


How to Untrain Your Dragon

by Teumessian



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon Divergent, M/M, Magic Reveal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 34,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1761807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teumessian/pseuds/Teumessian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin has many secrets but Arthur sees more than anyone knows. This is the story of a prince and a dragon. A canon changeling!verse AU, deviating around season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Changeling!verse: The changeling verse is an AU in which a small percentage of the population takes an animal form around puberty. They can and must change on a regular basis, or they risk shifting against their will. Changelings in this AU have no association with the classic changelings. 
> 
> Thank you so much to Kathe for the beta, and thanks to everyone else who looked it over. 
> 
> This chapter is not explicit but since this story is finished and I'm posting the rest rather soon, I just gave the final rating. Enjoy!

Merlin had kept one secret since before he could remember. His magic had manifested when he was only an infant—making things dance about their little hut and turning his mother’s hair grey with worry.

“You have a great and beautiful gift, Merlin,” Hunith had told him so many times, warm palm pressed to his pale cheek. “But you must keep it a secret. You mustn’t use it.”

And he hadn’t, mostly. Still, it was as if the wild magic in him resented being stifled, hidden away, and it took some form of revenge when Merlin turned ten. It was always a possibility, as Hunith was a Changeling herself—a soft, grey dove—so they weren’t really surprised when Merlin shattered the kitchen chair and sent his meagre supper flying across the room when the Change took him. The form he took though, that was his magic’s revenge, because in Hunith’s kitchen sat a creature about the size of a sheep dog, with charcoal scales, the occasional gold one glinting in the firelight, and when he coughed, smoke rose towards the ceiling.

His mother wrote to an old friend in Camelot and his response was just as damning as she feared. Changelings might not be particularly popular in parts of Albion, but only from magic came a magical shift. Plus, all the real dragons were gone—almost all—so if anyone were ever to see a dragon, if they found out it was Merlin… there was only one conclusion to be drawn by anyone informed on the subject.

So at the age of ten, Merlin had gained a second secret.

He wouldn’t lie and say that he didn’t occasionally feel resentment towards other Changelings, like Gwen, who, even though it was no great fate in Camelot, could at least exercise her shift every couple days without sneaking around, without hiding in the shadows of the forest in the middle of the night. He just wished there was one thing about him that he didn’t have to hide, and Arthur complained when he was late bringing his breakfast, but he’d like to see how spry Arthur was if he’d had to make the trip out past Camelot’s walls and back in the middle of the night twice a week.

But, as always, Merlin had borne his lot with all the grace in him. Unfortunately, not every one of his kind were content with their treatment in the world. Not everyone was willing to wait for things to change.

“Arthur… I hear something,” Merlin said, reining in his mare, feeling the dead pheasants that Arthur had shot bump against his leg—to his disgust.

“I’m sure you hear many things with those goblets you call ears,” his highness, Prince Arthur said with a self-satisfied smirk as he ignored Merlin’s warning.

But Merlin heard the sound of running and he saw the broad brown shoulders of a bear only seconds before they were overtaken.

“Arthur!” he shouted and this time Arthur heard the urgency in his voice, wheeling his horse around.

Then a bear, a wolf and a great hound barrelled onto the road. Both horses reared so violently that even Arthur was thrown from his saddle. Merlin landed heavily on his arse as Arthur rolled gracefully to his feet and drew his sword. The horses bolted.

The canines reached them first; before Merlin could even think about getting to his feet. Arthur slew one with a side-step and slash, footwork carrying him another step. Then he twisted and the tip of his sword plunged into the second’s heart. He really was a stunning warrior, Merlin knew- but often forgot.

But now his back was turned and the bear was almost upon him. Merlin’s breath caught as he foresaw Arthur’s impending death for what felt like the millionth time. The words were on his lips before he thought to put them there, magic surging to Arthur’s aid.

“ _Heall éagwund!”_ Merlin whispered, hand out.

A stone from the path shot through the air, smacking forcefully into the bear’s eye. It roared in pain and stumbled, giving Arthur all the time he needed to bring his sword down on its neck.

They stood there—well, Merlin sat—chests heaving for a minute in the aftermath. Three very human bodies lay still on the ground around them. If they’d had any doubt that the attackers weren’t Changelings, it had dissipated. Changelings always shifted back in death. Merlin looked at them a little sadly, wondering what had driven them to this.

Arthur turned to look at his manservant.

“Did you throw that pebble?” he asked, brow furrowed.

Merlin flushed. _Damn_. He’d hopped that the pebble had hit its mark before Arthur got his eyes on the bear. No such luck for Merlin.

“Yeah,” Merlin lied, pushing himself up off the ground.

“You’re rubbish at anything even mildly related to hand eye coordination,” Arthur said and Merlin refused to look him in the eye.

“I guess I just got lucky,” Merlin said, flashing an innocent smile at Arthur.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, mouth a hard line, like he wanted to say something else, but changed his mind.

“Just go fetch the horses, Merlin,” he said sharply, as if it were _Merlin’s_ fault they got attacked by Changelings.

“Yes, _sire_ ,” Merlin said mockingly as he turned towards the woods. “And you’re _welcome_ for saving your neck… _again_ …”

The last parts were grumbled under his breath.

“What was that, Merlin?” Arthur’s sharp voice cut into the back of his head.

“Nothing, sire,” Merlin said without remorse.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

“You’re being unreasonable, Father!”

The Hall was crowded, as it usually was in the evenings when Uther held court and supper. It was deadly silent as it always was when Uther fought with one of the young nobles in his charge. It used to only happen with Morgana, but right now it was his son shouting at him, standing on the red carpet before the high table; and Morgana who sat uncharacteristically quiet and pale-faced at the table.

Arthur’s eyes blazed in frustration.

“They _attacked_ you, Arthur,” Uther said, still retaining the surprise that his voice always carried when his son defied him—before it turned to anger.

“No— _they_ didn’t. A wolf, dog and bear shift attacked me, and _they_ are dead,” Arthur denied. “You cannot just ban Changelings from the court! They haven’t done anything wrong!”

Uther’s mouth was set in a hard line and the heavy crown on his head seemed only to deepen his scowl. Arthur regretted telling his father of the attack. He should have known that Uther would overreact.

“They can’t be trusted, Arthur. They are infected with sorcery,” Uther pressed. “They are _dangerous!”_

Arthur sputtered.

“So is a sword! I’ve been attacked with those time and time again, but you haven’t tried to ban them!” Arthur said, gesturing wildly around to the many blades that he could see strapped to hips in the room. When Uther’s eyes showed no signs of changing, Arthur looked for help. “Morgana! Tell him he’s being unreasonable. You surely agree?”

Morgana had been staring resolutely at the table, and when Arthur called her name, she jumped so badly that her goblet of wine spilled over the table. A servant rushed over to clean up the mess.

“I-I’m sorry,” she said, flustered, but then steadied herself. “But Arthur is right. The Changelings in our court have done nothing wrong, and I will never forgive you if you remove my handmaiden from me.”

Her voice strengthened by the end, and Gwen, who was standing next to Merlin by the door, kept her gaze subserviently to the ground. Merlin, of course, was watching the proceedings with sharp eyes; he’d never picked up court manners, but Arthur couldn’t let himself be distracted by his manservant in that moment, or what appeared to be a mix of worry and pride in his face. Arthur looked at his father beseechingly.

“They didn’t choose to be this way, Father. They are just as loyal as any in the court,” Arthur said, begging his father to see reason.

Uther looked at him with hard eyes. Finally he spoke.

“Fine… but I will not tolerate their kind putting you at risk,” he said imperiously.

“Of course,” Arthur ground out, forcing himself to take what he could and not provoke Uther further. “Thank you, Father.”

Uther narrowed his eyes and leaned back into his chair.

“I don’t see why it matters to you so much,” he remarked.

Arthur’s spine was stiff.

“They are our people, too. Like I said, they didn’t choose to be the way they are,” Arthur said. “They are afflicted with magic, against their wills.”

Uther huffed a breath through his nose, as if he didn’t agree—though even Arthur himself was growing to doubt the last part about it being an affliction. But it seemed to appease Uther.

“They’re _tainted_ ,” Uther murmured and a muscle in Arthur’s jaw twitched.

“May I go now, Father?” he said, low and clipped.

Uther made a dismissive gesture and Arthur turned and stalked off without hesitation, at least keeping his temper until he was out of the Hall. He felt Merlin follow behind him. He wanted to break something—the priceless vase ahead of him in the corridor looked like a prime target, but breaking things would only validate Uther’s opinion that Arthur was some naïve child.

Arguments with his father ended, without fail, in one of two ways: defeated desolation or explosive fury. Today’s result was obvious.

“You did the right thing, Arthur,” Merlin said, soft and sure from behind him.

“I know that,” Arthur snapped, without looking at Merlin. “I’m tired, sore, and desire a bath.”

They turned down the corridor that housed his quarters.

“Of course, sire,” Merlin said with a notable lack of sarcasm that Arthur thought might have something to do with the pride that had glowed in Merlin’s eyes when Arthur stood up to his father.

It brought a new round of flush to his cheeks, even as his bad temper persisted.

Arthur stripped his own mail and clothing off as Merlin began to ready his bath. He shed down to his trousers and crossed to his window. He folded his arms over his chest and looked out over his kingdom, a mix of worry and frustration clawing in his chest. With each passing day it seemed he understood his father less. With each passing day his succession drew closer and he longed for the days when all it seemed he had to worry about was winning the next tourney, and not whether or not he was making the right choices, whether or not he’d be a good king—whether his people were suffering.

Arthur was only mulling things over for a few minutes before Merlin said his bath was ready. He spun to see Merlin moving away from a full and _steaming_ tub. A vein throbbed in his temple and his mouth opened and closed. Arthur was furious gain, but for a completely different reason.

Was Merlin soft in the head?!

How _stupid_ did he think Arthur was? He may never have made his own bath in his life, but Arthur knew one couldn’t prepare a pot of hot water in the time it had taken for Merlin to prepare his bath. Arthur didn’t want to deal with this right now. This was the _last_ thing he needed.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, the prince’s chain mail in hand, realising he hadn’t moved.

Arthur snapped his mouth shut and stalked to the tub. He dropped his trousers quickly and stiffly, then stepped and dipped into the tub in one motion, trying and succeeding to make a large amount of water slop onto the floor—but then he yelped loudly.

“It’s hot,” Merlin deadpanned from across the room.

“Too hot!” Arthur shouted, face thunderous, scooping a large block of soap from the floor and chucking it into Merlin’s ear, which only succeeded in reminding him of the precise trajectory of Merlin’s pebble from that afternoon.

“OW!” Merlin cried, dropping Arthur’s armour and cupping his ear as he glared murderously.

Arthur’s glare dared him to say something. Merlin clearly thought better of it.

You see, not small on the list of problems that plagued Arthur’s life was his sorcerer of a manservant, who seemed for all the world hell-bent on exposing himself.

Yes, Arthur knew about the magic. He’d known since Ealdor. He’d accepted the village boy’s lie because he was dying, and he’d saved Arthur’s life. On the ride back, Arthur had seriously considered ordering the guards to arrest Merlin as soon as they crossed the beyond the city walls—but he’d had the whole journey back to think and he couldn’t ignore the fact that Merlin had saved his life, too, and not just once. He thought about it perhaps being a ploy to gain his trust, but then he realised how many branches had fallen on his enemies, how often they tripped when they charged him. He remembered the strange book he saw on Merlin’s bed once when he’d gone by Gaius’ to look for him, and Arthur came to a conclusion.

Nobody who was plotting against him would be so spectacularly bad at it. Merlin was far too stupid to be working against him—and swallowing poison for Arthur seemed like a marvellously poor method of killing him.

And it was _Merlin_ , the worst servant ever with his big ears and dumb smile. He could never mean any harm to Arthur.

So, until this point, Arthur had turned a blind eye to his servant’s petty magic tricks.

It was a good plan, in theory.

Except Merlin seemed determined to all but flaunt it in front of him!

More branches fell and more pebbles flew into his enemies’ eyes and Arthur’s bed sheets stayed unreasonably warm when he did something Merlin seemed to approve of in the cold winter.

He made Arthur want to strangle him.

“I want you to polish my armour tonight. It’s got blood on it,” Arthur commanded instead.

“It does not!” Merlin said from where he’d been folding Arthur’s discarded clothes, eyes accusing.

“And I want you to muck out the stables and bathe the horses first thing tomorrow,” Arthur fired back.

Merlin narrowed his eyes and turned to the wardrobe to get Arthur’s sleep clothes.

“Fine, you great slave driving bully.”

He dodged the second lump of soap, grinning triumphantly at Arthur, who swore he saw a gleam of gold in his eyes.

“And clean up this water,” Arthur added lastly, and then proceeded to ignore Merlin completely.

But now even the hot water wouldn’t loosen the knot of anger and unease in his chest.

Uther might just want to banish Changelings from the castle, but he would see Merlin burned alive if he ever discovered his magic.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

Merlin left Arthur to brood in his bathwater. He was always impressed with Arthur’s ability to turn any affection Merlin had for him sour in only minutes. It was as if he had a sixth sense that told him exactly when Merlin was beginning to believe he wasn’t a complete prat and then sought to rectify that gross misperception.

And yet, when Merlin paused at the door and looked back to Arthur, his eyes were downcast, golden hair curling from the steam. His naked shoulders were rounded, bare of any armour and the sense of protective loyalty came flooding back. Merlin knew that he was the only one who saw Arthur like this. He was the only one who Arthur let see him with his guard completely down.

Merlin turned away, shutting the door quietly and beginning to walk down the corridor. So lost in his thoughts, Merlin almost ran straight into Gwen.

“Oh! Merlin!” she said, stepping back.

She was carrying a phial in her hands and her brows were knit.

“Gwen! Sorry,” Merlin said, and then noticed the worry on her face. “Are you alright? You’re not worried about what Uther said today, are you? Arthur would never let him—”

“No! I mean, I know. It’s not that,” Gwen assured him. “It’s just… Morgana.”

Merlin cocked his head to the side.

“Morgana?”

Gwen started a bit, as if she realised that she’d said something wrong.

“I mean Morgana’s nightmares,” Gwen amended. “I just went to Gaius for a sleeping draught.”

She held up the phial as if Merlin needed proof. The manservant frowned.

“Right… she has seemed off lately,” Merlin said, remembering her spill at the table earlier.

Gwen stood up straighter and glanced quickly over her shoulder as if she were worried that someone would overhear them.

“No, Morgana is fine,” Gwen said, quietly, waving her hand and giving Merlin a weird smile. “She’s just tired—which—speaking of…”

She held up the sleeping draught and Merlin’s brow furrowed, but he stepped aside.

“Right,” Merlin said.

He watched her walk quickly down the corridor and wondered when everyone had gone a bit mental.

 

The moon was already high in the sky when Merlin made it under the boughs of the trees outside Camelot. He didn’t stop walking until he could no longer see the torches on the walls of the castle. Then he untied the neckerchief from around his throat; he undressed, folding his clothes carefully and placing them on a log. Gaius had given him a look of supreme disapproval when he’d returned from the forest the first time with dirt all over his clothes from where he’d left them in a heap on the ground.

Stark-naked and bare as Arthur in his bath, Merlin stepped to the centre of the clearing, pale skin milk-white in the moonlight. Then his thin form disappeared, and it was a much more common kind of magic than Merlin’s usual sort, if it was magic at all. A new shape loomed in the night, dark as shadow and bigger than the largest draught horse. A heavy head rose slowly on an arched neck as two blue eyes gazed up at the stars hung in the black.

Merlin dug his claws into the soil and, like the unfurling of great sails, he spread his wings. He stretched them deliberately, first straight out and then up over his spine, until he felt the tips touch gently together. He stared up at the moon, and then folded his wings.

Merlin dropped his head, murmured a spell that would hide his tracks and then traipsed deeper into the woods.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

Arthur was alerted to their company when his knights stood up straighter, despite the harsh drills he’d been putting them through which had left their chests heaving and sweat breaking on their brows. The prince turned to see Morgana crossing the yard with Gwen. A blue cloak was tucked over Gwen’s folded arms and Morgana wasn’t in her usual clothing, but instead wore a magnificently fine mail shirt, sculpted armour around her middle, vambraces on her arms and breeches with loft leather boots.

“What are you doing here, Morgana?” Arthur asked as she strode confidently towards him.

Gwen went to go and stand by Merlin where he was posted near the practice swords. They smiled and greeted each other but Arthur was focused on Morgana.

“I’ve been cooped up in the castle, and your knights gifted me this lovely armour for my seventeenth birthday, and now I am near eighteen and it has barely seen use,” Morgana said brazenly.

Arthur squared his shoulders.

“We are in the middle of training,” Arthur said.

He knew anything she was here for would be disruptive—but honestly it was already too late for that. His exercises were doomed the second she walked out on the practice field.

“And I came out here to spar,” Morgana said with a smile. “It seems like it falls in the same vein, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not sparring with you, Morgana,” Arthur said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I didn’t ask _you_ to spar. I’ll admit… you’re not the same little boy I pushed into the dust when you were twelve,” Morgana said teasingly.

Arthur bristled and his eyes widened.

“That did not happen!” Arthur said and then turned to his knights. “That did not happen.”

Morgana simply laughed.

“I’ll spar a few of your knights,” Morgana continued, ignoring him and making Arthur scowl.

Arthur was about to give her a hard no. It was inappropriate, they weren’t children anymore and she couldn’t just waltz into official training sessions of the knights of Camelot.

Then Sir Aled snorted.

He was one of Arthur’s newer knights, all of whom had passed the exams by the skin of their teeth and at his father’s stern warning to go easy on them because their fathers were _important to the stability of the kingdom._ Arthur had been furious for weeks.

Clearly, Aled found it laughable that Morgana might be able to hold her ground against him. Arthur’s mind was made up in a moment.

“Fine,” Arthur said; it would be good for them to get knocked down a few pegs.

Morgana’s eyebrows arched, and Leon chuckled, too, except Arthur knew he wasn’t laughing at Morgana’s prospects. He knew what had brought the dark cloud of disapproval to Arthur’s face, and he knew what the knights were up against.

“Really? I expected you to throw a fit. I guess you _are_ growing up and becoming less of a pigheaded child,” Morgana said and then turned to Gwen after Arthur gave her a cold smile, muscles tightening the corners of his eyes. “Gwen, could you bring me a practice sword?”

“Sir Aled, you will spar against Lady Morgana first.”

The knight spluttered as Gwen happily strode out to place a blunted sword in Morgana’s gloved hand. Arthur caught Gwen shooting Merlin a chastising look as she approached Arthur’s laughing servant. Leon at least had the decency to stifle his amusement as he led the younger knights out of the way.

Morgana let her sword swing around in an easy circle, stretching her wrist as Aled held his sword low and uselessly. He chuckled nervously, torn between bravado and discomfort. He really didn’t know what was coming.

Morgana swung. Aled shouted.

Arthur sighed heavily as his knight hit the ground.

 

“Merlin,” Gwen said chidingly when he laughed openly as Morgana knocked the third successive knight to the ground, but she was fighting a losing battle against her own smile.

“Oh, come on. You think this is as brilliant as I do,” Merlin said as the clang of steel echoed around the training field.

Gwen didn’t respond, but she kept her fingers knit in front of her and didn’t deny it.

“Honestly, though, should Morgana really be exerting herself so much?” Merlin asked, feeling the hot sun on his neck and not envying the knights in their armour. “Gaius says her nightmares are still going strong.”

Gwen frowned as she watched Morgana and then looked up at Merlin.

“Really, I think that might be why she wanted to do this so badly. Perhaps the fresh air and exercise will do her good. No, need to steep in whatever haunts her,” Gwen said sadly. “She’s got so much weighing on her…”

The last part was murmured as she watched Morgana level her sword low to Ivor’s neck. Merlin wasn’t sure that he was supposed to hear that last part, so he kept his mouth shut.

“Arthur, do you have any knights who can even manage to swing their swords at me?” Morgana said brashly as Sir Ivor scrambled out of the dust as soon as Morgana pulled her sword away from the hollow of his throat.

Arthur scowled and snapped at Ivor to get back into line. Morgana scanned the knights, a little sweat on her brow but otherwise no more worse for wear than when she’d started. Her eyes settled on Leon and she smiled, and he smiled back.

“Sir Leon?” she asked.

Leon looked to Arthur for permission and grinned when Arthur gave a curt nod.

“It would be an honour, my lady,” he said sincerely.

He stepped forward and took a practice sword from a squire. Merlin knew that Leon could hold up against Morgana, and also wouldn’t pull his punches. Gwen told him that Leon had been taught swordplay in Camelot right alongside Arthur and Morgana; he knew better.

The sound of Leon and Morgana’s steel meeting rang out with a new tone, notably different from the previous bouts right from their first swings. They moved quickly. The knights looked a little shocked but Leon, Morgana, and even Arthur wore satisfied smiles.

Leon was stronger but Morgana was just as quick as the red haired knight, and knew how to use the environment to her advantage, consistently putting the sun in Leon’s eyes. They moved closer together, and then Morgana danced back out of Leon’s pressing range. He darted forward with a solid swing and she sidestepped, just barely deflecting a blow. Leon fought like a wolf. Morgana fought like a hissing tomcat.

In the end it was Leon’s endurance that won him the fight. Morgana was panting a few minutes in, and her blows became erratic. The grins were dropped from both their faces as she fired off a series of blows they both knew were her last cards to play. Leon stopped them, scarcely, and knocked the sword from Morgana’s hand.

Morgana’s chest heaved as she looked at the practice sword lying in the grass, but then she relaxed when she realised that it was much too far away to make a dive for it. Her seriousness cracked and she curtsied to Leon, who chuckled and bowed back, sweat slipping down their faces.

“So, anything else on your agenda today besides playing squire to the Lady Knight of Camelot?” Merlin asked conversationally.

“Not much actually. I’m sure there will be a bath in order after all this, but Morgana gave me the evening off,” Gwen said contentedly. “What about you?”

Merlin rolled back and forth between his heels and toes.

“Oh, just some gathering for Gaius after I get Prince Smelly-britches into his bath,” Merlin said.

Gwen looked at him and let out a confused laugh.

“Prince Smelly-britches?”

Merlin raised his eyebrows and looked at her, mock-serious.

“I assure you, he has _earned_ that title, Gwen. Seriously, for how often his clothes get washed… _hoo_ ,” Merlin said, making Gwen dissolve into half-suppressed giggles.

“Well, would you mind if I shifted and came along?” Gwen asked after she steadied herself. “I’ll carry the baskets and you can vent about… _Prince Smelly-britches_ all you want.”

Her brows dipped even as she sort of smiled at the term, which just made Merlin’s eyes crinkle in amusement.

“You’re welcome to,” Merlin assured. “Though I can’t promise anything good about the state of your ears if you do. Lately, Arthur had been _particularly_ —”

“Merlin!” Arthur’s bark cut in. “Quit gossiping like an old maid and get over here or I’ll have you running my dogs this evening.”

“Delightful,” Merlin said with a sarcastic smile as he turned away towards the prince.

 

“I just don’t know what I’ve _done_ to deserve the recent resurgence of prattishness!” Merlin complained as he plucked mushrooms from the grass atop a hill outside Camelot.

Merlin placed the mushrooms in the saddlebag that was slung over Gwen’s back. Her shifted form was a forest pony, bay and graceful, and she wore a purple ribbon around neck whenever she was shifted. It wasn’t an uncommon practice for Changelings to don some sort of token. While others of their kind could easily spot the difference between a true animal and a shifted Changeling, Normals had more trouble. And it wouldn’t do for Gwen to be harassed by some villager or guard thinking she was an escaped mare.

“I mean two days ago, he had me muck out the _knights’_ stables. Not just his stables, the _knights’_. He sent the stable boys home early,” Merlin said, and though he didn’t say, it had been particularly annoying and hurtful because that same day Merlin had magicked away the bed bugs that had somehow infested Arthur’s chambers; but no thanks were given when he reported their absence, of course not.

Gwen flicked her ears and gave Merlin a pitying glance.

This wasn’t an unusual arrangement for the two of them. Gwen liked to come out beyond the walls to exercise her shift and Merlin liked the company, even if their conversations had to be one sided. Changelings could talk to each other through shift speech, a sort of telepathy that one could master with varying degrees of success, but only in shifted form. So, mostly Merlin just chatted aimlessly and Gwen listened like the saint she was.

“He’s an ass, completely and totally—and I hate him,” Merlin said with a huff, remembering how long it had taken to get the manure out of his clothes.

Gwen nickered though and gave him a look and Merlin sighed heavily, shoulders slumping.

“Alright, I don’t hate him… and I know he’s not an ass _all_ the time—but that’s what makes it so confusing! Half the time it’s like we’re friends, and we are… of course we are. It’s clear that he… cares, but the rest of the time it’s like he’s punishing me for something,” Merlin said, looking out towards the walls of the city. “He thinks I’m an idiot.”

Gwen stamped her foot a little and nuzzled Merlin’s shoulder.

“No, Gwen. He does… it’s okay though.”

And it was. It had to be. He’d taken advantage of that assumption too many times to begrudge it. The foolishness Arthur, his father, everyone, perceived, it was a shield. Who would guess that Arthur’s idiot manservant was a great warlock? Not Uther, that was for certain.

Gwen stepped away, and huffed a little through her nose, too delicate to be called a snort, though it was definitely an equine sound of disapproval. She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

Merlin continued to pick mushrooms.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

When Arthur’s perfectly good plan to turn an eternal blind eye to his servant’s forbidden habits went completely to hell, it was of course Merlin’s fault.

Arthur was hunting, Merlin in tow—just the two of them. Arthur had been preferring it that way more and more lately, even if Merlin was a bloody awful hunting partner and always managed to find a stick to step on. He told himself it simply added an extra layer of difficulty and kept the hunt interesting.

Out in the woods it was easier to breathe. It felt less like he had boulders on his chest; and the weight on his tongue was lifted, too. He talked, and mostly Merlin just listened, as if he knew Arthur just needed an outlet. Occasionally he did respond, though, thoughtfully, and sometimes passionately—and Arthur almost never called him an idiot when he did. Sometimes in the forest they genuinely laughed together, without the castle walls looming around them and Uther’s heavy presence bearing down upon them.

Sometimes, though he’d be turned into a toad before admitting to it, Arthur even hazarded to ask Merlin’s counsel.

“You watch me train them, Merlin. What are your thoughts on the new knights?” he asked as they picked through a fern grove, Merlin walking behind him with a crossbow.

At this rate they were probably scaring off any game in the extended vicinity but that was never the main reason for these outings anymore, was it?

Merlin carded his fingers through the soft, pale-green fronds that waved around their hips.

“Berwyn is strong but he’s slow. Aled is arrogant. Alwyn and Ivor flinch when anyone comes at them with a sword, and Hefin is dumb as a sack of rocks,” Merlin said, stepping on a particularly loud branch and snapping it in half. “And all of them except Huw are as prattish as one can expect from nobility. You need to get yourself some commoners, sire. You might have better luck.”

“You know my Father would have you hanged if he heard you talk about nobility like that,” Arthur said in spite of the quirking of his lips as he ducked under a young maple tree.

“But then who would bring you breakfast?” Merlin said, unbothered.

The thing was that Arthur didn’t exactly disagree with any of Merlin’s assessments of the new knights—especially not after that horrifying display led by Morgana he’d witnessed the previous week—and sometimes he did think he’d rather have some men who actually wanted to be knights for the sake of the people of the land, instead of ones who were sent to Camelot to try and gain favour for their rich lord fathers.

“Probably someone competent,” Arthur replied, only to hear the huff that always accompanied Merlin’s eye roll and smile.

Arthur jumped when he felt a hand on his back.

“Merlin?” he asked, but when he looked behind him, Merlin’s gaze was roving the forest.

Dappled sunlight filtered through the trees and turned the sea of ferns and saplings into an ocean of rippling spring green.

“Do you see some—”

He did. Arthur knew exactly when Merlin saw the thrown knife, the prince’s gaze as focused as it was on Merlin’s face, where spots of lights danced on his cheekbones and his scanning blue eyes almost looked emerald as they snapped wide and he screamed Arthur’s name. And he moved.

Arthur saw Merlin’s back; there was a wet sort of thump.

“ _Merlin!_ ”

Merlin’s body toppled into Arthur as the knight instinctually took the crossbow from his hand, lowering Merlin to the ground. He saw the shadow in the woods now, tracking it with his eyes as he loaded the bolt, raised the weapon and fired. He shot and felled the man who had tried to kill him.

The one who had felled Merlin instead.

Arthur turned back to where his manservant lay amongst the ferns, not bothering to check if the assassin was truly dead or not. Merlin’s eyes were open but his face was pale and his chest shuddered up and down as he gasped in what was clearly excruciating pain—probably having something to do with the blade half buried somewhere in his lower ribcage.

Arthur’s knees hit the dirt beside him.

“Merlin! No,” Arthur said in denial as the red flared around the wound like his own cape unfurling.

The knife fell to the dirt as Merlin’s ribs and rapid breathing expelled it, but then the blood only came faster.

Arthur ripped the neckerchief from around Merlin’s throat and pressed it to the wound. Merlin cried out violently, trying to arch away from the agonising pressure.

“No, no, no,” Arthur rambled and blue eyes found blue.

“You have to get me to Gaius,” Merlin said.

Arthur felt warm wetness against his fingers and there was no way that Merlin would make it out of the forest, let alone back to Camelot. Merlin was going to die. That was a _fatal_ wound. The thought was almost hysterical.

He hadn’t realised he’d been shaking his head back and forth.

“Right,” Merlin said breathily, as if he knew what Arthur had been thinking.

He let his eyes close.

“No! You don’t just get to die for me—who said you could die for me?!” Arthur all but shouted at Merlin, lightly smacking his cheek until Merlin’s eyes opened again.

Arthur’s fingers were red and left stains on Merlin’s face and this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Merlin might once have laughed at Arthur’s ridiculous claim of control over life and death, but instead he just coughed up blood.

Once again Merlin had put Arthur’s life ahead of his own, as if Arthur had needed more proof that just because Merlin had magic— _magic!_

The thought hit him with the force of the entirety of Camelot’s cavalry.

“Use your magic!” Arthur blurted.

Merlin’s eyes snapped open wide.

“What?!” he gasped.

Desperation seized Arthur. Everything was turning red with Merlin’s blood, and his face was twisted in pain.

“You heard me!” Arthur shouted. “Can your magic heal something like this?!”

Panic was in Merlin’s eyes and even immobilised with agony it still seemed like he was trying to move away from Arthur.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I—Gaius—” Merlin stammered, body shaking, from fear or impending death Arthur wasn’t sure.

“You will be long dead before Gaius sets one eye on you unless you use your magic!”

“Arthur, I don’t—”

Merlin’s eyes slipped in and out of focus, and Arthur snapped, something in him splintering like castle doors before a battering ram.

“Merlin, use your blasted magic to save your miserable life!” Arthur barked. “That’s an _order!_ ”

Merlin froze for a second, and then he feebly lifted a hand to push Arthur’s out of the way, soaked neckerchief and all. The blood flowed freely and Arthur could hear his own heart pounding in his chest, as if it was the traitor spilling Merlin’s blood into the dirt.

Merlin’s trembling hand hovered above the wound and his scarlet stained lips quivered as if he meant to speak but the words were caught in his throat, or maybe it was just his own lifeblood blocking the way. His eyes were locked on Arthur’s.

“ _Merlin!_ ” Arthur said urgently and the young man gasped, like breaking from a trance.

His eyes snapped to the wound.

“ _Ágíeme!_ ” he whispered.

Gold. Merlin’s eyes turned bright gold. Not the strange gilded shadow Arthur had thought he’d caught in the reflections of Merlin’s eyes before. No, Merlin’s irises flared like the sun into a gold brighter than all the coins in Camelot’s coffers. Arthur’s breath caught in his throat.

The bleeding stopped; the Helios-rings in Merlin’s eyes faded, but neither of them moved for innumerable seconds. The harshness of their hoarse breathing was the only sound. Even the birds seemed to have gone quiet. The colour started to return to Merlin’s cheeks.

Arthur collapsed back into a nearby log, throwing an arm over his eyes, feeling Merlin’s blood drying on his hands.

Swearing he could hear the beating of a sorcerer’s heart.


	2. Part 2

Arthur ended the hunt early. The horses were tied up some distance away through the forest. Getting there was hell for Merlin.

At first Arthur forged ahead, a physical representation of his apparent fury with his manservant. Merlin’s head was fuzzy, and his side ached and he quickly lagged behind. He knew it was probably better than most people felt after being stabbed, but the fact was that a large volume of his blood was on the forest floor back in that fern grove—and on Arthur.

The shock and pain had already made the scene hazy in memory, but he could still feel the shadow of the press of Arthur’s hands trying to hold his lifeblood inside his body, sending what was left in his veins to his cheeks and ears.

Arthur stopped at a stream along the way, dipping his hands in the chilled water, scrubbing them viciously until Merlin’s blood disappeared and his hands went white with cold. It didn’t do anything for the stains on his clothes though. Merlin swayed unsteadily on the bank.

When Merlin didn’t move, Arthur looked up at him. He looked pointedly between Merlin and the water.

“Oh,” Merlin murmured and dropped to his knees in the moss.

He scrubbed the little bit of blood from his fingers and scooped a handful of cold water to his face to remove the marks there.

“We need to get into the city without someone seeing the blood on our clothes…” Arthur murmured, looking at the stains on his sleeves and the sporadic marks everywhere else.

Merlin glanced down at his ruined shirt, completely red and black. So ruined that the hole seemed rather insignificant. Arthur was right though. If they came into the city like this, there would be no avoiding questions.

Without thinking, Merlin turned to Arthur. He placed one hand over his own chest, and one hand over Arthur’s. The prince froze, but didn’t have time to react.

“ _Blód gedrysne_ ,” Merlin whispered, eyes boring into the redness in concentration.

Then it was gone. Merlin’s head spun. He probably would have fallen right into the stream if not for Arthur’s steadying hand on his shoulder.

“ _Idiot_ ,” he hissed, but otherwise didn’t comment, pulling Merlin up.

He didn’t let go once they were standing either, only took Merlin’s arm around his neck, hand around his wrist, to help him through the underbrush. He wrapped one arm firmly around Merlin’s waist. At that point Merlin was frankly too tired to argue—too scared of the sharp set of Arthur’s jaw.

When they got to the horses, Arthur watched Merlin try and fail to mount once, arms feeling like wet cloth, knees almost buckling when he slid back to the ground. Arthur stood with his shoulders rolled back by his own horse, but then came over and stiffly helped Merlin into the saddle. It made him feel a bit like a child, cared for, but also like Arthur could draw his sword and run him through at any minute. He shoved his own waterskin into Merlin’s hands.

“Drink,” he growled simply before mounting.

Merlin drank.

They started back towards Camelot, and all the while Arthur hadn’t so much as looked at Merlin, let alone spoken to him beyond the simple commands and the absent words by the stream. Merlin had only been able to stare at the stitching on the back of Arthur’s surcoat as he swayed atop his bay stallion. He was almost regretful when the water started to do its work making up for his lost blood and his head cleared a bit.

Merlin fiddled with his reins, twisting them in his hands, wringing them like a dirty rag. The forest felt oppressive now. Any comfort and freedom that the canopy used to provide was completely absent now. Instead it felt like the leaves were stuffing themselves down his throat, only slightly less scary than the knowledge of Camelot standing beyond the accusing protection of the trees.

He thought that he should probably have turned his mare into the trees then, and fled as fast as possible, but then he remembered that Arthur was a _much_ better rider than him and would catch him and drag him back to Uther and—Merlin’s head spun. For a second he thought he might actually fall off his horse. Blood loss and extreme terror should not be mixed.

Arthur’s hair glowed and shimmered wherever there was a break in the foliage—and he still didn’t say a single word. It didn’t take long for Merlin to crack.

“Arthur—”

“Were you seriously planning on letting yourself die before using your magic?” Arthur cut in sharply, before Merlin could even start.

Merlin opened his mouth to respond before he realised that he didn’t even have half an answer loaded on his tongue. Merlin really hadn’t planned to use his magic. Arthur had been there; he hadn’t even considered it. Like always, the thought process was simple. Arthur finds out about Merlin’s magic, Merlin has to leave Camelot. Or die. There had been pain and he hadn’t been in his right mind… but he had to protect Arthur, and to do that he couldn’t get caught. He couldn’t be sent away.

Looking back, dying on a forest floor didn’t exactly seem like a good plan either, but…

Arthur looked over his shoulder quickly, seeing the answer to his question on Merlin’s face, before returning to staring furiously ahead.

“How long have you known?” Merlin found himself asking against his better judgment only moments later, when the silence once again became too heavy.

“Since Ealdor,” Arthur said harshly, making Merlin flinch. “And a hundred times over since. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that half the forest seems to fall when I fight? And only on our enemies? And I don’t know if _you_ know, but we share a tent on campaigns, and you talk in your sleep, and half the time it’s in a language I don’t understand—and I know you think I’m a blind and spoiled _prat_ but I _do_ know that not even Gwen can mend a shirt without leaving _some_ evidence of repair.”

Merlin’s eyes were locked on his horse’s steadily moving shoulders, completely unable to look up. Arthur had known all that time, and he hadn’t—

“Why didn’t you—why didn’t you tell Uther?” Merlin asked.

He had to know.

“I knew you wouldn’t hurt me,” Arthur said without hesitation, and then Merlin couldn’t look anywhere but at Arthur.

“What?” Merlin asked.

Arthur still didn’t look back but Merlin could see the sun in his eyelashes as he stared forward, head held high—princely.

“I know you meant me no harm,” Arthur restated, a bit less levelly. “At first I did consider a grand scheme—but then I realised that plotting is far beyond your abilities… and drinking poison and letting yourself bleed out in the dirt hardly seem like effective strategies, whatever the plan.”

At that Arthur did shoot him an accusing glare which made Merlin drop his gaze. His eyes were filled with something that made Merlin’s cheeks heat and his ears turn red.

“Why… why wouldn’t you tell me…?”

Arthur didn’t respond for a moment.

“I believed it would be inappropriate for me to admit knowledge of your… nature. I used to believe it would be in conflict with my loyalties as prince and to my Father’s ideals. I thought turning a blind eye was all I could do.”

Merlin stared at him, two words sticking out like flames.

_Used to_.

Arthur didn’t say more and Merlin didn’t say anything. He looked down at his hands and a little grin settled on his lips. He still wasn’t exactly sure what all this meant, or what it meant for the future, but… he was starting to feel confident that his day wasn’t going to end in a burning.

And that was something.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

By the time they reached Camelot, and Arthur had forced both of their waterskins down Merlin’s throat, he was feeling a lot better. Merlin was still tired and a bit woozy, but he felt very good for someone who had received a fatal wound earlier in the day. They stopped in the secluded alley behind Camelot’s royal stables.

However, when he suggested to Arthur that he could take the horses back to their stalls and untack them, the prince had all but glared at him.

“To _Gaius_ , Merlin,” Arthur snarled and Merlin began to skitter away.

Then Arthur’s wary voice caught him before he got too far. The horses whickered impatiently in the background.

“Wait. Merlin,” Arthur called tightly, and when he turned, Arthur was right there, making Merlin jump. “I didn’t think about—you can’t just tell Gaius—”

“Oh, no. It’s okay. Gaius knows,” Merlin assured before he even realised what he was saying.

Arthur’s brows rose and then he frowned deeply. Merlin’s eyes snapped wide.

“Gaius knows?” Arthur said, and there was something unrecognisable in his eyes—but it definitely wasn’t pleasure.

“I mean, Gaius doesn’t—please don’t punish Gaius, Arthur. He made a promise to my mother,” Merlin said and then clamped his hand over his mouth. “I mean, Arthur—”

“Shut _up_ , Merlin,” Arthur cut him off, and it was probably for the best, stopping him before Merlin inadvertently sent half of the people he cared about to the gallows. Arthur’s thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge of his nose. “How are you still alive? Go to Gaius. Tell no one else of your injuries. I will tell my Father of the assassin and explain that he was unsuccessful, that nobody was hurt.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, ears still red and eyes glued to Arthur’s boots.

He heard a short sigh from above.

“Nobody is getting punished, Merlin,” Arthur said and Merlin looked up. The prince’s face was troubled now. “I’m not… I’m not like my Father.”

The words were awkward in the air, as if Arthur was still just coming to that conclusion, and had yet to decide if that was a good thing or not.

“Your mother and Gaius… and anyone else who knows, will come to no harm,” he continued.

“Only Lancelot,” Merlin said, because apparently he could _not_ keep his mouth shut.

“ _Lancelot_ , really?” Arthur asked, momentarily distracted, nearly affronted.

But as Merlin looked up at Arthur he realised he was the one being daft. Arthur had _told_ him to use his magic. Arthur had already known. All his anger seemed to be about other things. The prince refocused.

“Get some rest tonight. I expect you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, Arthur,” Merlin said, and turned away, but stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Arthur had already turned to the horses and gave no sign he heard, but Merlin knew he had.

 

When Merlin entered Gaius’ cottage, the man was too busy precisely measuring chopped toadstools to look up at his off-kilter ward. Merlin walked over and took a seat, pouring himself a cup of water from the pitcher on the table.

“How was the hunt?” Gaius asked absently.

Merlin didn’t answer until the cup was drained.

“I almost died,” Merlin said with all the emotion he could muster after his taxing day—so essentially none.

Now Gaius did look up, brow arched dramatically.

“How, may I ask?” Gaius asked, unamused, though to be fair he probably didn’t realise Merlin was serious yet.

Merlin looked at his empty cup, picking at a chip in the glaze.

“There was an assassin in the woods,” Merlin said and now Gaius was certainly paying attention. “He threw a knife at Arthur, and I… there wasn’t time to think.”

Merlin heard the clink of glassware as Gaius deliberately set everything down.

“Merlin… what did you do?” Gaius asked quietly.

“I got stabbed,” Merlin replied simply, and clearly that wasn’t what Gaius was expecting.

His eyebrow returned to its heightened state and his gaze quickly appraised Merlin’s body.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, my boy, but you don’t exactly look like a man who’s come in contact with a knife,” Gaius commented.

Merlin looked further down and fiddled with the clean hole in his tunic.

“Arthur commanded me to heal myself.”

Gaius’ eyes widened impossibly and on another day Merlin would have paid a large amount of his meagre wages to see such an expression on the old man’s face.

“He what?!” Gaius asked incredulously.

Merlin finally levelled his eyes at his mentor, hands clutched tightly around his cup.

“He knows about my magic, Gaius,” Merlin said, words tasting foreign on his tongue. “He knew.”

Gaius gave up on his work and sat down across from Merlin.

“And he wasn’t angry? He isn’t going to tell Uther?” Gaius asked.

Merlin shook his head.

“No. I mean yes—he isn’t going to tell Uther and he is angry, but not about the magic,” Merlin explained clumsily.

Gaius looked a bit baffled.

“What is he angry about?”

Merlin frowned, picking at the surface of the rough-hewn table.

“He’s angry that I didn’t use my magic to save myself… but it’s not like I knew he already knew. I couldn’t just…” Merlin explained, a bit flummoxed himself, remembering the more subtle cadences of Arthur’s words and actions now that the panic and anxiety had mostly faded. After all, if there was anyone who knew the moods and emotions of Arthur Pendragon, it was Merlin, but it just didn’t make sense. He continued with reservations, “And I think… I think that he’s a little angry I never told him.”

Gaius considered Merlin’s words for a moment and then knit his fingers together.

“Well, Arthur is a man who values loyalty and trust. And no matter what anyone says, least of all Arthur and yourself, you have become a dear friend to Arthur, and I think no matter how much he understood logically why you could not tell him, I believe deep down there’s a part of him that can’t help being wounded by the fact that you didn’t confide in him, even lied to him,” Gaius said slowly.

Gaius’ words seemed simultaneously ridiculous as well as completely plausible, and perhaps he hadn’t given Arthur enough credit after all. With that, Merlin knew there was something he had to do.

He rose from the bench with purpose.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Gaius asked.

“I need to go and see Arthur,” Merlin said, lips set in a sure line.

“Was your presence required this evening?”

Merlin shook his head.

“No, but I need to tell him that I’m a Changeling,” Merlin said determinedly. “There’s no reason to hide it anymore.”

A bit of excitement pulsed in his chest, along with a twinge of apprehension. Gaius sighed.

“Sit down, Merlin,” Gaius said, and despite his confusion, Merlin sat. “Today you got stabbed, and if you were given the night off you will stay here, eat some supper, suffer me to make sure you haven’t messed up your healing spell, and then you will get some sleep.”

A severe pout took root on Merlin’s face as Gaius rose and got two bowls from a shelf. He then went to a pot by the fire to scoop two generous portions of stew into the earthenware.

“But I—”

A steady look from Gaius silenced him.

“ _Then_ , tomorrow morning, you can tell the Crown Prince of Camelot that you are a dragon.”

Merlin’s mouth snapped shut. Silence descended in the cottage.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

Any fantasies of a smooth and calm confession were shattered about two seconds after the words left Merlin’s mouth.

Arthur very slowly set his goblet down next to his breakfast, leaned back in his heavy chair and laced his fingers together. Merlin stood before his table, barely breathing.

“Do you enjoy lying to me, Merlin?” Arthur asked simply, the first words from his mouth.

“Arthur—” Merlin started, taking a step forward but quickly retreating and falling silent at the warning spark in Arthur’s eyes.

“I mean, it seems to be the only conclusion I can come to. Certainly, my Father does not hold shifted souls in high regard, but it is not illegal to be a Changeling, so I can’t help but wonder if lying is a sport to you, Merlin. If you had asked me yesterday, I would have said you were as good at it as you are at any other sport, but perhaps I underestimated you,” Arthur continued, leaning forward onto the table, resting his chin on his linked knuckles.

“That’s not—” Merlin tried and failed to get a word in edgeways.

“I have half a mind to think you are lying now. Changelings have to shift every few days, do they not? We’ve been on hunting trips, campaigns, and you always stay in my tent, for weeks, Merlin,” Arthur said, shaking his head.

Merlin shifted from foot to foot.

“There are potions, spells, they can make it so I can resist the instinct. It’s not comfortable, but—” Merlin said, cutting himself off when he realised he was about to start rambling.

“Oh, of course” Arthur said, nodding now. “Because if you just excused yourself to shift you wouldn’t get to lie to me anymore. I mean Guinevere seems to manage—”

Arthur was spiralling further into his rant and Merlin knew if this went on Arthur wouldn’t be finished until the sun had passed its zenith.

“Arthur!” Merlin said, almost shouting.

Arthur’s brows rose dangerously high, a look that meant Merlin was inches away from spending the rest of the year in the stocks. Merlin hurried on before Arthur could start speaking again.

“I don’t like lying to you,” Merlin said, and saying it aloud was like an unexpected punch in the gut. The truth of the statement had been locked away in a box at the back of Merlin’s mind just to allow him to cope, but now it spilled everywhere. It almost spilled from his eyes as he stared at Arthur’s stone floor. “I hated it—all of it. I hated lying to you, Arthur.”

When Merlin looked up hesitantly, he saw that the angry fire had faded from the prince’s eyes. He only regarded Merlin carefully now.

“So… why did you then?” Arthur asked.

“It’s my shift,” Merlin explained, and Arthur cocked his head to the side. “It’s a dragon—and only people with magic have magical shifts.”

Arthur stared at him.

“You’re a dragon.”

Merlin straightened his spine.

“Yes.”

After what seemed like forever, Arthur rubbed a hand over his eyes.

“Merlin… I have to ask… what is a dragon-shifted sorcerer doing in Camelot acting as my manservant?”

The young warlock fully intended to explain, but at that moment someone banged violently on the door. Merlin jumped, and Arthur didn’t react.

“Come in,” he called, eyes still on Merlin, considering.

Merlin shifted uncomfortably under then intensity of his gaze as Leon appeared in the doorway.

“Sire,” he said, a bit breathless.

Merlin could breathe again when Arthur finally looked away. The prince straightened when he caught sight of his knight’s frantic appearance.

“What is it, Leon?” he asked.

“Citizens on the outskirts of the city are falling ill rapidly, sire—they’re coughing up blood,” Leon explained.

Arthur stood, breakfast forgotten.

“Where?” Arthur asked. “Which parts of the city are affected?”

Leon actually looked pale. Dread filled Merlin’s stomach.

“All of it, sire. All the citizens in the shadows of the walls, and it’s spreading inwards.”

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

The court was assembled. Arthur stood to the side, and Merlin to his right, as Gaius advised the King. The older he got, the less Arthur envied Gaius the position.

“You’re sure the plague has roots in sorcery, Gaius?” Uther asked from atop his throne.

“Yes, sire,” Gaius said and Arthur swore he heard Merlin sigh heavily. “The way it’s spreading is too even for a natural plague. The sickness bears all signs of a curse.”

Uther’s face turned thunderous, and Arthur squared his shoulders, resisting the urge to look over at Merlin.

“Someone put a curse on Camelot?”

“Perhaps, but no significant parties have entered the Kingdom in weeks—and the timing seems very random, sire,” Gaius said, voice calm as ever. “Are you still excavating the catacombs beneath the castle? There are many things in Camelot best left undisturbed.”

Uther was quiet for a minute, and nobody mentioned Gaius’ continued council to cease the digging, as everyone already knew Uther had continued the work in spite of the repeated warnings.

“How will we know the cause?” Uther asked.

“I must do more research, and we must find out what has been uncovered from the catacombs,” Gaius replied.

“Let it be done, and quickly,” Uther commanded.

Arthur stepped forward.

“I will lead a team of men and the excavation crew to index the recently uncovered catacombs,” Arthur said.

Uther nodded his approval.

“Make sure no one touches anything, if possible,” Gaius warned and then looked to Merlin. “Merlin, with me.”

Arthur watched as Merlin, in his blue neckerchief with a serious look in his eyes, followed the physician from the court. So many thoughts and questions swirled in the back of his mind—but his people needed him. So for now, he tucked them away.

 

Hours later found Arthur with a board and parchment in the catacombs, indexing all manner of objects and oddities, as well as fielding increasingly distressing reports from Leon about the spread of the plague. It seemed that over a third of the population were now coughing up blood, the affected appearing closer and closer to the centre of the city. The ones near the wall had begun to vomit red. People were starting to panic.

Hollow pangs throbbed in Arthur’s empty stomach, but he’d sent the servant who had brought lunch away and had continued at his post at the entrance of the tunnels, becoming more agitated with each passing moment. He felt like he should be doing more than counting vases, but Gaius said it was important, so Arthur endured.

When he heard the sound of running feet, Arthur feared the worst, but then he saw Merlin coming quickly down the rough cut steps, taking them two at a time and probably risking falling and breaking his slim neck.

“Merlin!”

“Arthur!” Merlin said when he caught sight of the prince, hurrying over. “We think we know what it is! Gaius thinks he knows what’s causing the blood plague.”

“What is it?” Arthur demanded.

Merlin was already grabbing for Arthur’s lists, bumping against Arthur and invading his space in ways only Merlin was comfortable doing.

“Did anyone see a statue of a rat?!” he asked as his eyes rapidly scanned the pages, cheeks flushed.

He must have run all the way here. Arthur looked over Merlin’s arm, pressing their shoulders together.

“I think…” Arthur muttered, flipping a page back, running a leather clad finger down a line. “Yes! In the west tunnel—the newest!”

A grin spread over Merlin’s face, and a tiny bit of the anxiety in Arthur’s chest lightened.

 

They found it tossed in with a pile of rubble. It was about the size of a horse’s head, and appeared to be made out of a dark sort of stone. It took the form of a screaming rat and Arthur thought it was positively dreadful.

“That’s it!” Merlin exclaimed as soon as the torchlight fell upon it.

He kneeled down in the rubble.

“What exactly is _it_? Is this the cause of the plague?” Arthur questioned.

The thing surely was ugly, but it seemed strange that such a little thing could inflict so much damage.

“It’s a relic of the Old Religion,” Merlin explained as he examined it. “Gaius says it’s cursed, and if awaked by blood it will inflict blood—ah! And look!”

Arthur frowned and wrinkled his nose.

“What is it?”

Merlin held his torch closer and pointed, sending sparks into the creature’s dead eyes. When Arthur looked closer he saw what Merlin did—a dark goop on the rat’s teeth and chin.

“Blood?” he asked for confirmation.

“Must be. Someone must have cut themselves when they were moving it, triggering the plague,” Merlin explained and then stood. “I have to tell Gaius. Maybe he’s found a way to break the curse.”

Arthur straightened up.

“I’m coming, too,” Arthur declared, and at first Merlin seemed hesitant, an old habit, but then he merely shrugged and master and servant made their way out of the catacombs.

 

Arthur had never seen Gaius and Merlin in this light before, and it was strange, to see Merlin out of his role as servant at Arthur’s side and fully acting as Gaius’ apprentice and assistant. Even with the whole hidden magic bit, sometimes Arthur forgot Merlin wasn’t just the young man who pulled him out of bed every morning and hovered diligently—or not so diligently—at his side. He seemed… almost capable here. He knocked over a stack of books, but he also had gone through almost as many as Gaius. The more Arthur learned about Merlin, the more he realised that, whilst he was _definitely_ a bumbling

idiot, there was more to him than that. There was a clever light in his eyes, pride and trust in the set of his mouth, and even occasionally wisdom in his words.

Arthur did his best to help, but mostly he attempted to stay out of the way as Merlin and Gaius turned through page after page of ancient tomes.

The prince’s stomach still growled angrily, but still he didn’t eat.

As the hours continued to pass, and the sun began to sink, Arthur started to worry furiously again. Any hope gained from finding the cause of the plague dwindled as he began to fear that there was no way to stop it. Unlike Gaius and Merlin, Arthur paced as he read—feeling useless. Merlin seemed to notice the shift in Arthur’s mood, even as he continued to scan book after book.

“Arthur,” he said in his most placating tone, “We’ll figure it out.”

He didn’t say anything, but Merlin held his gaze steadily until Arthur looked away, feeling steadier on his feet.

It was when he came through the door after receiving a new horrifying report from Leon that Gaius finally seemed to find something.

“Are you sure it will work?!” Merlin said excitedly as the two leaned over a large manuscript.

“Yes, I believe so,” Gaius said as Arthur re-entered the room.

“What is it?” Arthur asked, standing across the table.

Merlin looked up with excitement in his eyes.

“Gaius found a way to break the curse,” Merlin said, hair sticking up from where he must have been tugging on it—so Arthur hadn’t been the only one under stress.

“How?” Arthur asked urgently.

Gaius was still scanning the text.

“The statue must be destroyed, after an _extremely_ powerful enchantment is cast to the setting sun,” Gaius explained.

Arthur cursed violently, making Gaius look up, startled. It wasn’t ideal, but at least they had a way now. He had to remain calm. He took a deep breath.

Merlin was staring at the text intently, lips forming around words that Arthur didn’t recognise.

“Alright, so we ride out, and we find a sorcerer powerful enough to cast the spell. I’ll come up with something to tell my Father,” Arthur said, all business. “Perhaps we can find one among the Druids.”

“I… don’t think that will be necessary,” Gaius said slowly. “Merlin should be able do it...”

Arthur scowled in confusion, replaying Gaius’ words in his head.

“But you said the spell we need to use is extremely powerful, wouldn’t one need to be an extremely powerful sorcerer to use such magic?” Arthur asked.

Maybe that’s not how this magic worked. Maybe it was about channelling power or something, but as he waited for an answer, Gaius simply raised a brow very high. Merlin himself was too absorbed in the manuscript to hear, continuing to mumble under his breath.

“Yes,” Gaius said, once again speaking at a snail’s pace, as if Arthur was a dunce.

“But, Merlin…” Arthur stared, and trailed off, finally realising that he had definitely missed something major.

Merlin grabbed the text and walked to a table across the room, where his spell book lay open.

“Merlin is young, and as you might guess, has not had much chance for practice, but he has more magic in him than any in all the five Kingdoms,” Gaius explained delicately, as if it were something Arthur should have known. “Sire… Merlin has the potential to be the most powerful warlock to ever walk this earth.”

Arthur stared at Gaius. His mouth opened and then it closed again. It felt a bit like the floor had moved beneath him, or maybe there was no floor at all. Arthur looked down to check, but sure enough Gaius’ dusty floor remained surely beneath his feet. A leaf and a few clumps of dirt caught his eyes. Merlin clearly hadn’t swept it well enough. Arthur would be furious if Merlin left _his_ floor in this state.

Right. Merlin.

“Merlin?” he asked, making sure that Gaius had spoken correctly.

“Yes. Merlin,” Gaius assured.

Arthur knew Merlin had magic. He _had_ known that. He knew Merlin could make branches fall, and fire stones like bolts from a crossbow. He could make water hot and stop himself from bleeding out. The most intense magic Arthur had seen him perform was the windstorm in Ealdor, but Arthur had just assumed that to be the extent of Merlin’s magic. His servant was clumsy, and inept. It only made sense that his magic was a little thing.

“Arthur!”

The object of his thoughts was only inches in front of him, waving his hand and trying to get his attention. Warm blue eyes looked concerned. Arthur took a stuttering breath.

He shook his head to clear it.

“What?!” he asked, a little sharply, but Merlin didn’t seem to notice.

“Are you ready? The sun is setting,” he said, eyes bright and jaw set with determination. “You have to wait until the sun is down, then destroy the relic. You can just tell Uther that destroying the statue alone will stop the plague.”

“Of course,” Arthur said, defaulting to defensiveness as his world was flipped upside down.

Still, Merlin didn’t seem to notice. Instead a smile quirked his lips.

“See? I told you it would be alright,” Merlin said, and it was so earnest that Arthur was grounded again.

He nodded once and followed Merlin from the cottage, into the evening street. The sun was sinking quickly towards the city walls.

“Take Llamrei, and ride quickly,” Arthur said, hand on the pommel of his sword.

Merlin turned and gave Arthur a soft grin.

“See you when the curse is broken,” Merlin said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Then Merlin turned towards the stables.

Arthur watched his skinny frame go, trying to imagine the power that Gaius said was bottled up inside. He failed miserably, and called out before Merlin got too far.

“Merlin,” he said and his servant turned. “Be careful.”

Merlin turned, stupid grin only widening on his cheeks and it was ridiculous to think that this was the same boy who stuttered and begged for his mother’s safety only yesterday. This was something Merlin knew he could do. He was walking away from Arthur, alone, and knew he was strong enough. For a moment Arthur actually envied him.

“I’m always careful,” he said over his shoulder.

“I thought I told you to stop lying, Merlin,” Arthur called after him.

He shook his head and turned toward the castle, on his way to smash a statue and completely re-evaluate his entire life.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

In a field on the outskirts of Camelot a young warlock stood and took a deep breath as the fiery orb of the sun was swallowed by the broken-backed hills in the distance. He began to chant in a mostly forgotten language and gold swirled and danced in his eyes.

His palms faced out, fingers spread. Wisps of light spun towards him, accumulating in his hands. It glowed and it pulsed, and then the sun was gone and one last archaic shout rang from the boy’s lungs. The light dropped to the earth, sunk in, and disappeared.

Across the city, a knight bounded down steps beneath a great castle, between torch bearers and guards, skidding to a stop before a man with golden hair.

“Sire, the sun has set.”

And a prince raised a heavy sword and brought it back down. Stone cracked and shattered. And something pulsed out of the broken form like a wave of hot air and pure darkness.

Then all was still, and Camelot breathed easy once more.

The blood washed away.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to Kathe for her beta and britpick! Hope you all enjoy <3

It was dark as Merlin rode Llamrei back into the city. He passed cottages and hovels, saw lights in their windows and people inside—healthy people.

The castle was busy in the aftermath, but it was quieting now, and nobody paid any mind to Merlin slipping in and out of the stables. He made his way through the familiar corridors and up well-worn stairs, passing guards that didn’t bat an eye at his presence. Nobody stopped the manservant of Prince Arthur as he moved about the castle.

Merlin entered Arthur’s chambers without knocking. Arthur stood, stripped to a loose red tunic and soft trousers, in the alcove that he spent more and more time in these days, staring out over Camelot. One arm was tucked over his chest and the other held a half empty goblet. He looked over quickly at the sound of the door, visibly relaxing as he registered Merlin.

A huge grin was spread on the young warlock’s face.

“We did it!” Merlin said brightly.

Arthur’s lips twitched up briefly but then it disappeared, and his brows dropped as he looked at Merlin.

He came away from the window and delicately set his goblet on the table before pulling a chair out to sit. There was no table between them this time, and he continued to stare at Merlin. The back of his neck felt hot and Merlin resisted the urge to fidget.

“Is something wrong, Arthur?” Merlin asked to break the silence.

Arthur folded his fingers under his chin- and he didn’t look angry like he had that morning, just quietly intense. That strange expression that made him look both predatory and kingly, fierce and calm.

“You never got a chance to answer my question this morning,” Arthur began. “So I’ll ask a similar one now… what is the most powerful sorcerer in Albion doing acting as my manservant?”

Unlike the previous discussions, finally Arthur didn’t look wary or suspicious just very confused.

“Why would you even come to Camelot, Merlin?” Arthur asked, and it was so quiet, so still, only the popping of embers in the fire punctuating the prince’s words.

Merlin would give Arthur that one. It was a fair question. There were other kingdoms that didn’t condemn magic, places his skills could have flourished. Arthur must have realised that.

“It was my destiny,” Merlin said, and Arthur looked about as satisfied with that answer as Merlin had once been, so the sorcerer continued. “When I first arrived in Camelot, to stay with Gaius, I heard a voice calling to me. It was the Great Dragon.”

Arthur seemed unable to resist.

“Your father?” he asked.

Merlin let out a soft snort, momentarily relaxing before he sobered once more.

“No, Arthur. Kilgharrah, the elder dragon that your father has trapped below the castle,” Merlin said, and the amusement fell from Arthur’s face as well. “He told me I had a very important destiny.”

“And what destiny is that?” Arthur asked.

Merlin hesitated, but if there was anything that the last few days had taught him, it was that, given a little time, Arthur could handle the truth.

“To protect you,” Merlin said, holding Arthur’s gaze. “So you can fulfil _your_ destiny.”

Arthur’s eyes widened.

“What does that mean, Merlin?” he asked, looking unsure for the first time since he asked his question. “What is my destiny?”

Merlin couldn’t help the fond and prideful smile that bloomed on his face.

“Arthur… one day you will unite Albion. One day, you will be a great king,” Merlin said, voice bright and strong.

He said nothing for a moment, eyes searching Merlin’s face for any sign of deceit, and found none. Merlin didn’t blame him for his silence; it was admittedly a lot to take in.

“And it’s your destiny to protect me? I’m not a delicate flower, Merlin,” Arthur said, and Merlin couldn’t help but laugh as Arthur latched onto the fragment of Merlin’s story that he could cope with in that moment.

Merlin’s eyes crinkled around the edges.

“You’d be surprised at how often people are out for you, sire. It’s a testament to my skill that you are so unaware,” Merlin said, and Arthur raised a condescending brow.

Honestly though, next time some magical prick showed up for Arthur’s life, Merlin would delight in informing him of the situation.

“But that’s not all it is,” Merlin continued more seriously. “I’m to help you make it happen. The dragon says our destinies are linked, that for you to prevail, I must stay with you. So you should really stop trying to sack me…”

Suddenly something in Arthur’s countenance changed. His lips pressed together and he stiffened. Merlin was confused.

“Arthur?”

“So you act as my servant because it is your destiny?” Arthur asked, and his tone wasn’t accusatory.

It was too carefully controlled for that, and in a moment of clarity, Merlin understood. He dropped his eyes to the floor and once again forced himself to speak the truth.

“Yes… in the beginning,” Merlin began, feeling Arthur’s gaze boring into him. “At the start, I resented it. I was afraid. I resented you, and there were even times I resented Gaius because of what I had to do… over and over again. I didn’t understand.”

Merlin closed his eyes, remembering the anger and confusion that had marked his early days in Camelot.

“But… that was before I knew you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re still a gigantic prat,” Merlin said with a short glance up at Arthur, who was raising a brow. Merlin looked back down. “But you’re a good man, Arthur. You are a great warrior and you care about your people… fiercely. You would give everything for them, and not just for the people of Camelot. You came to Ealdor when my village needed help, even though it was beyond your borders. Even when Uther forbade it… and I don’t need the Great Dragon to tell me that you will be a great king one day.”

He couldn’t even say when exactly those beliefs had written themselves into his very bones, when he stopped protecting Arthur for duty, and when he began to protect him for faith… for more than he could bring himself to admit. He wondered when he had stopped cursing Arthur’s name, and instead would cut a man down for his honour. It was a long time ago, now. His face burned and the air in the room had become very still, and even the fire seemed to quiet.

“So you don’t wish you could leave your position?” Arthur asked archly, though there was something strained in his tone.

Merlin looked up, answering without hesitation, holding Arthur’s eyes. Merlin had said similar words before, but maybe Arthur had never truly heard them. Maybe he needed to say them again.

“No,” Merlin said. “I didn’t lie when I told you that I’m happy to be your servant… until I take my last breath. I was born to serve you, Arthur, and that is all I want.”

 

Merlin didn’t look away and Arthur saw the calm determination in his eyes. Arthur’s throat worked a bit and inside he was drowning in something unnameable. He blinked hard, Merlin’s words all too much, and in that moment Arthur Pendragon realised that there wasn’t a single soul in all of Albion more loyal to him than the man that stood before him now. And it didn’t matter yet that Arthur couldn’t quite believe everything Merlin said; it didn’t matter that deep down there was fear in Arthur’s bones, fear that he didn’t live up to Merlin’s beliefs, that he didn’t deserve such unflinching faith—it didn’t matter because at the same time it felt like something was slotting firmly into place, something that had been trying to fit itself together for a long time now.

And maybe there was something to Merlin’s talk of intertwining destinies, because, while the feeling was still fragile as the first green sprout from an acorn, Arthur couldn’t help but believe Merlin belonged at his side.

Arthur swallowed and coughed once before standing.

“You’ve changed, Merlin,” Arthur said, considering the memory of the boy fresh from the country, picking fights with princes.

Well maybe he hadn’t changed that much.

“So have you,” Merlin replied.

“Oh?”

Merlin’s lips twitched.

“You’re less of a dollophead,” Merlin explained.

Arthur laughed in spite of himself, grabbing his goblet and taking a quick swig of the bitter liquid, hiding his face and taking a drink to destiny, happy for a lightening of the intensity in the room.

“I’ve told you, Merlin,” Arthur said. “That’s not a real thing.”

Merlin just pressed his lips together and nodded resolutely.

“Yes it is; it’s exactly what you are,” Merlin assured, and Arthur threw a roll at him from the heaping plate that the cook had brought up earlier.

Merlin caught it and ripped off a piece, popping it between his lips. Silence fell once more.

“So that’s why you lied,” Arthur said quietly. “Why you hid the fact that you were a Changeling, tried to hide your magic.”

Merlin looked down, rolled the bread over in his palms.

“I couldn’t risk being sent away from you,” Merlin said with such sad sincerity that it made something sharp throb in Arthur’s chest. “And I could hardly tell you I was a _dragon_.”

Merlin did have a point there. Arthur had seen many Changelings in his life. He’d seen Gwen in her equine form as she made her way out of the city. He’d seen bears and dogs and had seen an incredible travelling show featuring a number of monkey-shifted Changelings. He knew that the cook was a rabbit and, despite Uther’s prejudices, one of his knights had a stout ox shift.

But he’d never heard of anyone except sorcerers with magical shifts. His nurse had once told him about an evil wizard who could take the form of a cockatrice, and his Father had mentioned one of the sorcerers that terrorised the kingdom over twenty years ago with a shift that looked like a monstrous bat.

Uther would have Merlin hanging within minutes of finding out he was a dragon, whether or not he knew for a fact what it meant—the image made Arthur’s throat close up.

He wasn’t his father though, and he wouldn’t let that happen.

“Show me,” Arthur said, and Merlin’s head snapped up.

“What?”

“I want you to show me your shift,” Arthur said, feeling a bit possessed now that the idea was in his head.

“I—” he seemed to be instinctively resisting, thrown for a loop by the unexpected request.

Then he seemed to see something in Arthur’s eye and his mouth closed.

“Right… alright,” he murmured.

Arthur watched with his arms crossed over his chest as Merlin went and barred the door. Then Merlin walked back to the centre of the room and began to rapidly shed his clothes. Arthur quickly looked away then, catching only flashes of a pale chest and slim shoulders. He would admit his reaction was a bit strange given the number of times he’d absently dressed down in front of Merlin.

Arthur made himself look back up at Merlin’s face, at his closed eyes and not at the way his lean chest rose and fell with each counted breath. Merlin opened his eyes and looked around himself quickly, as if measuring the distance between himself and any furniture or walls. He took one more deep breath and let his eyes fall closed once more.

Then Merlin was gone and in his place was a great beast, smack in the middle of Arthur’s chambers. Arthur knocked over a bowl filled with fruit with his elbow in shock. Apples bounced across the floor towards the windows.

Now, Arthur knew Merlin had said dragon, but just like his inability to process the fact that Merlin was an immensely powerful sorcerer, Arthur was not prepared for what stood before him now. When Merlin said dragon, Arthur had pictured a creature like the wyrms in the stories he’d read as a child. He had definitely not pictured a great dragon of myth and legend.

Yet that was exactly what stood before him now. He wasn’t so big as to be cramped in Arthur’s quarters, but he was bigger than any of Arthur’s horses. Standing at full height, Arthur would only have just been able to see over his back. And despite the horror stories his Father had told him, this creature was no monster.

The dragon was a dark coal grey, but when Arthur looked closer he could see the smattering of golden scales splashed across his body, catching the light of the fire… almost like his hide was made out of the night sky. His head was heavy but angular, and two almost frilled horns jutted out from the back of his skull, below those were twisted ears, almost like a deer’s. His neck was arched gracefully, and could nearly be described as slender. A set of furled black wings were tucked up tight against his body, curling just over his shoulders. He was like nothing Arthur had ever seen before, except for the two blue orbs that tracked his every movement; those were achingly familiar.

He was magnificent.

The realisation almost bowled him over.

“Arthur…?”

The voice was deep and had a rumbling timbre, but still there was a thread of something that sounded like Merlin. Arthur’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes snapped back up to the dragon’s face— _Merlin’s_ face, where an expression of clear concern could be seen.

“You can talk?!” Arthur asked incredulously.

It had been explained to Arthur that Changelings communicated between minds, with thoughts. But they couldn’t communicate verbally, and what Arthur heard was most definitely aloud.

A low laugh made the dragon’s head bob a bit, and his eyes narrowed, just like Merlin’s did when he laughed.

“Dragons have the capability of human speech,” Merlin explained. “So I can talk in shifted form. It’s not completely unheard of, you know. I once heard about a raven shift who figured out how to talk when she was shifted.”

Arthur hadn’t even known dragons could talk… though he had guessed that they would have to be able to speak in some capacity if Merlin had been told all about destiny from one.

“Oh,” Arthur eloquently replied.

He didn’t know exactly what else to say. Merlin’s claws clicked on the stone floor as he moved back and forth.

“How long have you…?” he gestured to all of Merlin’s scaly form.

“Been able to shift?” Merlin finished as Arthur nodded mutely, unable to take his eyes off the great creature before him.

Merlin rustled his wings in what seemed to be an unconscious movement. Arthur fought the urge to touch. He wondered if Merlin’s scales were warm.

“I was ten when I made the Change,” Merlin explained. “We always thought I might be a Changeling since my Mother was and apparently so was her mother.”

Arthur peeled his eyes away from Merlin’s rolling shoulders, looking back at Merlin’s face.

“Hunith is?” Arthur asked.

He hadn’t known, but then he hadn’t asked and they hadn’t been in Ealdor long. A soft smile curled Merlin’s long mouth.

“Yes, she’s a dove,” Merlin said fondly, looking lost in memories.

Arthur was surprised to find himself grinning.

“My mother’s sigil bore a dove,” Arthur said.

Merlin’s eyes went wider and then he laughed.

“A dove suits Hunith,” Arthur continued fondly.

Merlin bobbed his head.

“Yeah.”

The dragon’s wings began to stretch out again. Half way through the motion, Merlin seemed to notice the action and pulled them back to his sides.

Merlin shifted out without warning, dragon gone and unassuming young man left in its place. Arthur looked away as Merlin began to pull his clothes back on.

“How often do you shift?” Arthur asked to avoid silence.

“I try to get out at least twice a week,” Merlin explained and Arthur was a bit baffled to catch himself looking at the sharp hip bones that were visible as Merlin tied up the laces on his trousers. “It would be more comfortable if I could shift more often, but I lose half a night’s sleep every time I have to go out into the forest.”

Arthur retrieved his goblet, adding wine to keep himself busy.

“You don’t shift at Gaius’?”

Merlin snorted and shot Arthur an unimpressed look.

“Gods no. There’s nowhere near enough room,” Merlin said and Arthur realised that he was right.

Arthur had seen the little room where Merlin slept, and the clutter of Gaius’ cottage spelled bad news for Merlin and his unending clumsiness in _human_ form. Arthur could only imagine the damage he would do whilst shifted.

Then an idea occurred to Arthur, one that was probably not a very good one, but seemed simple to Arthur at the time. Plus, there may be some selfish motivators behind his thought, perhaps directly linked to the disappointment Arthur had felt when Merlin shifted out.

“You could use my chambers to shift,” Arthur offered off-handedly.

Merlin’s head jerked up from where he’d been tying his belt.

“What?!”

“My chambers are large enough, and after supper and before my breakfast you are the only one allowed in,” Arthur explained.

It had been a rule employed after a particularly clever assassin dressed as a maid had made it into Arthur’s room one night a few months before.

A slow smile spread on Merlin’s face, growing until he was grinning from ear to ear. A warm redness crawled up Arthur’s neck.

Maybe his motivations weren’t _completely_ selfish.

But that probably made it an even worse idea.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

The weeks that followed were strange for both master and servant. Things didn’t change much visibly. Arthur was still infuriated every time Merlin used magic carelessly. It was still asking for trouble in Arthur’s opinion, and as someone who had undergone serious training since he could walk, it was drilled into him that bad habits only bred bad results—but now he could at least shout at Merlin about it directly.

Though, sometimes, when he was sure they were alone, he’d bend his own rules.

“Merlin, my stew is cold,” Arthur said one evening. “Fix it.”

Merlin looked up from where he was preparing Arthur’s bath.

“You said I’m not to use my magic,” Merlin said, unimpressed.

“That’s because your judgment can’t be trusted,” Arthur said simply. “Mine can.”

Merlin rolled his eyes but never put up much of a fight. He enjoyed using his magic far too much to do so. Which Arthur would have to admit may have been the reason for many of his demands in the first place.

“It likes you,” Merlin confided one evening as they sat in chairs by the fireplace.

They’d come from a feast and both their tongues were loosened by the wine Arthur had demanded they drink upon returning to his chambers—a decision definitely influenced by the wine he had already drunk at the feast, of course. Merlin could hold his liquor about as well as a young lady, and Arthur found a drunken Merlin a very amusing thing, indeed. He indulged whenever he could talk himself into believing doing such a thing was appropriate behaviour.

Merlin wasn’t completely drunk tonight, but his eyes were bright with wine, and the smile that had spread on his face when Arthur had told him to light the fire with magic hadn’t faded.

“What?” Arthur asked, head a bit heavy with the drink.

“My magic, it likes you,” Merlin clarified, legs tucked up in his seat and holding his goblet with both hands. “It reacts, faster, easier when I use it for you.”

Merlin laughed into his cup, but didn’t seem to notice that Arthur wasn’t laughing. Instead he was staring without even a wisp of an idea of what to say to that. He hadn’t known magic could hold an opinion. The firelight was reflected in Merlin’s eyes and Arthur watched as the smile faded and turned into a little frown. Arthur’s brows dipped in confusion.

Merlin continued to stare into the flames.

“I’ve had it since I was born, you know,” Merlin murmured.

“Is that unusual?” Arthur asked, as he really had no clue.

Merlin nodded.

“It comes to people later… awakens,” Merlin explained, words running together just a little. “It takes people years of study to do what I could do before I could talk.”

“Bragging doesn’t suit you, Merlin,” Arthur scolded, though Merlin’s tone had been the farthest thing from that of a braggart.

It earned him a quiet giggle from Merlin anyway, though his smile faltered once more.

“I used to be so scared and angry,” Merlin said softly.

“Why?”

“I didn’t know why I was the way I was… I didn’t know, thought there must be a reason… for me, and yet... All I had was my magic, and I couldn’t use it. I was nobody,” Merlin murmured, watching the embers crack and pop.

“Merlin,” Arthur tried to cut in.

He wished his head was clearer. No matter how he taunted, he couldn’t believe Merlin had ever been nobody. He had no idea how to say such a thing, though. All his brain was providing was an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch, comfort.

“No, Arthur, it’s fine. That’s what I’m saying. I’m not a nobody, and I do have my magic for a reason,” Merlin said, finally really looking at Arthur. “I have my magic for you, Arthur. It’s always been for you.”

Arthur was silent, fingers tight on his goblet until Merlin’s eyes crinkled in that mischievous, knowing way of his. He nodded towards the fire, and his eyes flashed gold. Arthur’s breath caught as a shape appeared in the flames, a dragon. It wheeled once and then reared, mimicking the shape of the Pendragon crest. A little breath hitched in his throat, and he was rapt until it disappeared. Arthur looked away. He leaned down to scoop the pitcher of wine from the floor.

“Well, your magic must have good taste then,” Arthur said as he refilled Merlin’s goblet, but even to his own ears his tone was all wrong—and by the continued smile on Merlin’s face, he saw right through it, too.

That night Arthur kept himself up imaging a little boy with dark hair and wide golden eyes who could make fire dance.

There were other things Arthur imagined too sometimes, like what his father would think if he knew a dragon regularly inhabited his chambers. That kept him up, too.

But he could never quite quash the spike of pleasure that thrummed in his chest whenever Merlin asked, still unsure, if it was alright if he stayed as the sun was setting. And the answer was always yes.

 

From the outside, nothing seemed to have changed in the weeks since the blood plague had wracked Camelot. There were no fatalities, but that didn’t mean some less visible permanent changes hadn’t come to pass. For Merlin, even though everything appeared the same, it all seemed new again, from the castle to the outskirts of the lower town.

Magic was still banned, and Merlin was still in danger of being burned at the stake on any given day, but _Arthur knew about him_. And he didn’t hate him. He wasn’t sending Merlin away. If anything, he seemed begrudgingly fascinated.

It took Merlin a while to realise, because in the beginning Arthur actually tried to be aloof. It began with furtive glances over maps as Merlin stretched his wings as far as he was able in the confines of Arthur’s chambers. After a few evenings of Arthur seemingly trying to pretend there was nothing noteworthy about the dragon in his room, his curiosity seemed to get the better of him.

“Can you breathe fire?” Arthur asked out of the blue one evening from his alcove, looking inwards instead of out for once.

Merlin looked up from where he’d been dozing on the flagstone near the fireplace. Arthur was looking at him levelly, arms crossed over his chest. Merlin was glad for a moment that he couldn’t blush in this form as he realised he had no idea how long Arthur had been staring at him.

Merlin smiled now though, a quirk of the mouth. He lifted his head, turning his nose to the failing coals beyond the hearth. He then opened his mouth and cast a gentle tongue of flame into the fireplace.

Arthur watched the new flames dance and Merlin tried to gauge his reaction.

“A simple yes would have sufficed, Merlin,” Arthur chided, making Merlin release a smoky chuckle.

After his initial aloofness, it seemed that the prince had just as few boundaries with Merlin when he was shifted as he did when Merlin was in human form—possibly less. Any respect earned by the dragon body apparently dissipated quickly, as Merlin found out one night when he was awakened late in the evening by the feeling of being prodded in the shoulder.

Merlin lifted his head to find Arthur, who had been looking over some official documents, the last time Merlin checked. Apparently that had become boring, as he now crouched beside Merlin, staring intently at his hide. He lay a hand on Merlin’s flank, and Merlin could feel the press as Arthur lingered, then ran his palm over the ride of his shoulder and firmly up Merlin’s neck, feeling the muscles like he might on a horse he was considering buying. Merlin should probably have found that kind of handling insulting, but… well, it felt nice, so instead he kept quiet and watched as Arthur flicked one of his golden scales and then picked at it lightly.

“Do they ever fall off?” Arthur asked, picking at a grey scale now.

Merlin curved his neck around so he could talk face to face.

“Sort of, but not one by one,” Merlin explained. “Dragons shed their skin.”

Arthur looked up at Merlin.

“What? Like a snake?”

“More like a lizard. It’s messier,” Merlin said. “And it itches fiercely. For me it happens once every other month or so. There’s a reason I was so annoyed during the festival a few weeks ago.”

Arthur’s nose wrinkled.

“That’s disgusting, Merlin,” Arthur said, which only made Merlin laugh.

He leaned closer.

“Oh, you should see it, sire. Great patches of dead skin I have to rub off, some as big as your bath sheet,” Merlin told him graphically.

“That’s enough, Merlin,” Arthur said, pushing at Merlin’s snout, mouth twisted at the imagery.

Arthur got distracted then, running curious fingers over Merlin’s nose, where his hide was smooth, making Merlin go cross-eyed for a second. His touch was gentle and firm, and Merlin was disappointed when he stopped. The patch of similar looking skin in the hollow behind Merlin’s ears had caught Arthur’s eye and he reached up to investigate that, too, but when the pads of his fingers came in contact with the thinner, almost scaleless skin there, it sent a little shudder through Merlin’s body and he moved his head back. Arthur cocked his head to the side and Merlin realised he’d made a grave error. His eyes flashed dangerously.

“Ticklish, Merlin?”

The dragon’s eyes widened, knowing what was coming.

“No!”

But Arthur was already moving, wrapping one arm over Merlin’s neck and then turning wiggling fingers on Merlin’s sensitive skin. Merlin convulsed, trying to get away by rolling but Arthur only followed, grip strong. He fell on top of Merlin and didn’t let up.

“Arthur, stop it!”

Wheezing laughter tumbled from between sharp teeth as Merlin writhed on the stone floor and Arthur hung on for dear life. Merlin’s tail lashed, sending a chair flying across the room.

“Do you yield?” Arthur asked, swinging a leg over to straddle his neck.

Merlin tried to buffet him with his wings but the angle was wrong.

“Arthur!” Merlin protested through his breathless laughing, sides heaving.

“Say you yield,” Arthur demanded sadistically.

Merlin always yielded when Arthur physically dominated him, but right now Merlin was a _dragon_ , and like hell he was yielding to some bully prince. Arthur was strong, but Merlin was still much stronger.

“Woah!” Arthur said as Merlin suddenly rolled to his feet.

Merlin knocked Arthur to the ground with a twist of the head and a bat with his forefoot. Then, before Arthur could even move, Merlin spun, adjusting his wings and lifting his tail.

Then Merlin sat on the prince of Camelot.

♛   ♛   ♛

 

Sometimes Merlin came in and just slept. He would shift after he got Arthur ready for bed. Then he would lie down by the hearth. Arthur would sometimes wake in the middle of the night to see Merlin raise his head and glance at the dying fire. He’d carefully lift a log or two from the wood pile, set them on the fading embers, and then he’d breathe a soft flame over them, setting the wood ablaze. Arthur would continue to watch as he tucked his head once more.

Sometimes he’d catch Merlin watching him, too, though he never said a word.

Other nights Merlin simply didn’t leave after Arthur’s supper. Those nights he’d come in with the usual plates and pitchers, but also a sack with some heavy tome or another. Then he would shift, and the first time Merlin did it, Arthur wondered how he planned to read his book. The long claws that adorned his feet didn’t seem very apt for turning pages. He’d dropped his spoon and splashed stew onto the table when Merlin lay down, eyes flashing gold and sending the book jumping from his bag to land and open on the floor in front of him. He froze and looked up at Arthur when he heard the noise, guarded, seeing how the prince would react.

Arthur hesitated, but then quickly picked up his spoon and looked down at his stew. Merlin began to read, and occasionally a page would turn, seemingly of its own accord.

At first it was strange, seeing such casual magic, but Arthur quickly grew accustomed to the sight of a dragon reading through enchantment, and on cold nights Arthur would often join Merlin by the fire with his maps and official documents.

“What are you reading?” Arthur asked one evening, when the tax summaries he was looking over threatened to make his brain melt out of his ear. “A spell book?”

The prince was leaning against one of Merlin’s broad flanks, a furled wing slipped behind the small of his back. He made wiggly fingers at Merlin when he glanced over his shoulder. Merlin huffed out a laugh and the page turned as he looked back down.

“No, not today,” he said in his rumbling dragon voice. “It’s a history of the Five Kingdoms.”

If it wasn’t a magic book, Arthur had expected herb lore, or myth, one of Gaius’ books. He hadn’t expected a political history.

“Why are you reading that?” Arthur asked.

“I thought I should know about the histories and cultures of the Kingdoms with the upcoming peace talks,” Merlin explained without looking up.

Arthur’s lips pressed together as he considered Merlin’s words. Once again, Arthur hadn’t expected Merlin’s answer.

“Interested in becoming a diplomat, Merlin?” Arthur joked.

Though, Arthur was truly starting to believe Merlin was wasted as a simple manservant.

“Well, someone has to make sure you don’t offend someone and bring about the downfall of the Kingdom,” Merlin said dryly.

On second thought, Merlin was an idiot and shouldn’t even be allowed to speak. He punched Merlin in the wing.

“I’ll have you know that I don’t offend people, _Merlin_. They find me personable! I’m charming!” Arthur nearly shouted.

Merlin half turned his head, infuriating mirth dancing in his big blue eye.

“Oh, yes. Some might even call you… enchanting,” Merlin said. “Not that _I’d_ know anything about it, but your charm really is _magical_ …”

Arthur’s jaw dropped, dumbfounded. Then it snapped shut and his eye twitched when he realised Merlin was barely holding back laughter.

“Merlin, you are not responsible for people liking me!” Arthur shouted, pummelling Merlin’s wing and side.

The dragon laughed and pushed at him, trying to throw him off.

“You don’t know that! Every morning I could be slipping something into your goblet and you’d never know,” Merlin said. “I do have a vested interest in your future after all. Wouldn’t do to take chances with a personality like yours.”

“Merlin!”

Arthur punched harder for a second before Merlin lifted his wings away, still giggling a bit.

“Enough, Arthur. My wings aren’t practice dummies; they’re delicate,” Merlin said.

The prince snorted, still annoyed at Merlin’s implications. People liked him. _Merlin_ liked him.

“Surely they can’t be _that_ delicate if they can get this off the ground,” Arthur snapped, slapping Merlin’s side.

Any remaining giggles faded at that comment though, and Arthur’s instincts flared when Merlin’s tail curled towards his body. He’d hate to admit it freely but he’d long since developed an awareness of Merlin’s moods. He could tell when something was wrong with his manservant.

“They don’t,” Merlin said, and Arthur’s brow furrowed.

“What?”

Merlin rolled his shoulders a bit, in a shrug or something else, Arthur wasn’t sure.

“I mean… I’m sure they _can_ —I just… I don’t fly,” Merlin explained, seemingly trying to go back to his reading.

Arthur wasn’t having it. Merlin didn’t fly? It was a mad thought. He’d had dreams about his shadowy shape cutting through the air, golden scales glinting in the sun. It had been a calming dream.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked.

Merlin sighed and gave up his guise of reading, head turning to the side again, though he looked at the floor, not Arthur.

“Well, I flew a bit—when I was small, though that was more like jumping and gliding,” Merlin said, mouth twisted downwards, looking stiff.

And that was a whole other strange thought, Merlin as a baby dragon. He wondered how small he’d once been. That also led to the realisation that, since Merlin said he shedded regularly, he was probably still growing, too. Those were thoughts for another time though.

“But you don’t now,” Arthur concluded. “Why?”

Merlin glanced up at him, and then look in his eyes was somehow simultaneously sad and condescending.

“How could I, Arthur?” he murmured. “Even in the forest, even at night, there’s no telling who could see. Dragons aren’t just creatures of magic; they’re also all but extinct. If anyone saw me…”

Merlin trailed off, and though he seemed to try and hide it, Arthur could clearly hear the pain in his voice, and Merlin wasn’t the only one feeling something. Arthur realised, with a bit of shock, that something in him was aching—almost viciously. It just seemed… wrong, he told himself. Like a knight who didn’t fight, or a fish that didn’t swim.

Arthur’s face was filled with nothing but sincerity when he spoke.

“I’m sorry, Merlin.”

And he wished it was enough. Merlin smiled halfheartedly and went back to his histories.

From that night on there was another thing that kept Arthur up at night.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

The moon was nearly full above the trees and the woods were lush with the coming summer, and Merlin filled his lungs fully with the damp, clean air. Even though the option to shift in Arthur’s chambers substantially reduced Merlin’s discomfort on a daily basis, he still needed to go into the forest to stretch his legs once in a while.

Merlin made his way leisurely towards the stream, stepping into the cool water and submerging himself as much as possible. There were no sounds except the singing of the stream and the rustling of the leaves overhead. Merlin wished the quiet around him was peaceful, but mostly it was just lonely. Changelings often shifted together, but that wasn’t a luxury Merlin could indulge in. He used to be able to shift with his mother, but in his last years in Ealdor even that had turned bitter sweet. He loved his mother and it was a boon to be able to talk, to actually shift speak with someone, but Hunith was a flyer, and he knew she preferred to shift in the light of day—Merlin couldn’t do either, and it hurt and made him feel guilty for holding her back in equal measure. He hope she got to fly in the sun now that Merlin had come to Camelot—though, he still would have preferred her company to the silence of the woods.

He’d almost asked Arthur if he’d wanted to come out, but it felt strange, and there was still a thread of tension between them. Merlin just didn’t know where they stood. Sometimes Arthur seemed like a true friend, an ally, but then Merlin was reminded that he was the Crown Prince of Camelot, and his instinct to protect himself was strong.

Merlin crawled out of the stream and shook himself, sending glittering water droplets into the air. He spread his wings to shake them out, but then he heard hoof beats. Merlin froze and shifted out in a heartbeat. He dove behind a bush, flinching as the branches scratched his bare skin.

Merlin looked through the leaves and stifled a gasp as a gorgeous creature all but danced to a stop by the stream. It was as black as the darkest corner of the night sky, and a long, wavy mane was parted by a long, twisting horn that looked like it was carved out of obsidian.

The unicorn wasn’t alone, though. A smaller graceful shape trotted up beside her—and Merlin was so shocked he almost called out.

_Gwen!_

The unicorn looked down and the pony flicked her ears, clearly having a conversation in shift speak that Merlin wasn’t privy to. Gwen wasn’t wearing the thin purple ribbon that usually hung around her neck when shifted, but Merlin had no doubt that it _was_ Gwen. He’d know the dark bay mare anywhere.

And she was talking to the unicorn, which meant that the beautiful animal was actually no animal at all, but a Changeling—a Changeling with _magic_ , because there was no way that a non-magical person’s shift would be a unicorn.

So what the hell was Gwen doing out in the woods in the middle of the night with a unicorn shift?

The unicorn lowered her head to the stream to drink, and even the simple movement exuded such poise and strength—Merlin knew who the unicorn was.

Everything clicked into place. The strange behaviour, the nightmares…

 _I’m just worried about Morgana_.

As Gwen should be. Gwen was worried because the ward of Uther Pendragon was a Changeling, one of a people he’d labelled _tainted_.

And there was more. Though Merlin doubted Gwen knew the full implications of Morgana’s shift, the young noble had magic.

Morgana had magic.


	4. Part 4

Merlin thought about telling Arthur. He knew he _should_ tell Arthur, and he _was_ planning on telling him. The problem was, no matter how confident he was in Arthur’s ability to handle such news—and he was; he really was—it wasn’t really _Merlin_ ’ _s_ secret to tell.

Honestly, it was Morgana he needed to speak to, he realised in the wee hours of the morning after his completely sleepless night. Merlin knew how terrified Morgana must have been. As close as she was to Uther, even with Gwen’s help, being a Changeling must have been a terrifying prospect for her. And that was a completely separate issue from the fact that she must have been beginning to realise why she was having nightmares, what her shift meant. He wouldn’t be surprised if her magic was beginning to slip out. Merlin knew his natural and inherent control was not normal among those who possessed magic. It must have been its own nightmare, one she couldn’t wake up from.

And he knew better than anyone how isolating such secrets were.

The problem though was that he had no idea how to approach her. She could panic if she realised that he knew, and exposing himself in the process could be a huge risk.

Plus, what if he was wrong?

The potential hurricane of widespread general horrors that it could produce were worth taking a moment to think over.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, Arthur in his ignorance had his own plans.

He was already dressed when Merlin arrived. He couldn’t help the spike of disappointment. He’d actually come to enjoy the process of getting Arthur up and dressed, as there was a calming sense of normalcy in his morning tasks.

This morning Arthur was standing over his table in his dishevelled best attempts, looking at a map.

“You’re up early,” Merlin commented.

Arthur looked up, turned to face Merlin and then smiled widely.

“Merlin! I want you to ready the horses and pack our things,” Arthur said, looking a bit sleepy, but wearing that content and determined expression that betrayed the fact that he had an idea in his head.

“What for? Where are we going?” Merlin asked as he stopped in front of Arthur, hands automatically coming up to adjust Arthur’s collar and fix the twisted laces of his tunic, wondering how Arthur had even managed to get them so tangled.

“I’ve told my father we’re going on a hunting trip,” Arthur said.

“How many days will we be gone?” Merlin asked, beginning to catalogue what he should pack.

Arthur rolled up his map and secured it with a thin leather cord.

“A few days,” Arthur said. “A fortnight at the very most.”

Merlin’s shoulders slumped.

“We’re going on a hunting trip for a _fortnight_?” Merlin said, a clear thread of whining through his words.

He liked their short hunting trips into the local woods, but for the expeditions he’d give anything for some of the knights to come along. Watching Arthur shoot furred and feathered creatures was only fun for so long—and it wasn’t very long. At least when the knights came, Merlin was usually allowed to remain at the camp to prepare food and tend horses.

“Nope. We won’t be hunting,” Arthur said simply.

“What? But you said—”

“I said I told _my_ _father_ we were going on a hunting trip,” Arthur said, looking pleased with himself.

A mix of relief and trepidation settled on Merlin.

“What are we actually doing then?” Merlin asked, hoping it wasn’t something stupid or dangerous, knowing he’d end up following regardless.

“We’re going to the White Mountains. There’s an abandoned watch tower on one of the westernmost summits. I don’t think anyone has even been on that mountain in years,” Arthur said, going to open his wardrobe. “Also I need you to get me a new cloak. Something boring. Brown or grey or something.”

“Why?” Merlin asked, utterly confused as he watched Arthur.

“Because the knights’ cloak is too ostentatious, and it bears the royal crest,” Arthur explained. “It’s too recognisable.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Merlin said, exasperated. “I meant why are we going to an abandoned watch tower in the mountains and lying to the King?”

Finally Arthur really looked at Merlin, striding forward and stopping when he was only a foot or so away. He had that focused look in his eyes that always made Merlin nervous. At least, it made his stomach flip a little, and he thought that must be nerves.

“Because you, _Merlin_ , are going to show me exactly what you’re capable of,” Arthur said, low and serious.

“What?” Merlin asked, resisting the urge to back away from Arthur.

“No… more… lies. No more hiding,” Arthur said. “If I’m going to keep you by my side—and I am—I need to know what you and your magic can do, Merlin.”

Merlin didn’t say anything, but then Arthur’s features softened, and there was something comforting that Merlin couldn’t name in his eyes. Merlin smiled.

“Alright.”

 

With Arthur’s purse tied at his belt, Merlin had been ready to rush off, but Arthur had stopped him.

“Wait, Merlin.”

“Yes, Arthur?” Merlin said, turning.

“On second thought, purchase two cloaks,” he said, and Merlin’s head tilted to the side.

“Two cloaks? What for?”

Even Arthur didn’t need _two_ cloaks.

“One for you. The mountains can be cold,” Arthur said as he sat, taking a look at another map.

“Oh, that’s alright. I have my coat,” Merlin said, though he wasn’t sure why he was arguing; it was just in his nature, he guessed.

Arthur scowled.

“That’s a generous name for that pile of rags and stitching,” Arthur replied, which of course only made Merlin defensive.

“Oi, my coat is a good coat,” Merlin said, instantly disappointed with his rebuttal—and painfully aware of the fact that the elbows of his coat were getting very worn and he’d had to sew a patch into the back last month.

Arthur just snorted.

“Just do as I say, Merlin. You’ll be happy for it when we reach the White Mountains,” Arthur said. “Now go get us a pair of _decent_ cloaks and pack your things.”

With that tone it was like he was _daring_ Merlin to come back with the two rattiest cloaks he could find.

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, forcing down a smile.

Arthur narrowed his eyes but didn’t comment.

 

Besides the cloaks, packing and readying the horses, Merlin had one other thing he had to do before they left. After he had everything purchased, and had a tacked Hengroen and Llamrei tied up in the square by the castle, Merlin ran quickly back to Gaius’, immediately going for his shelves of herbs and tinctures. He was happy the physician was out, perhaps with Uther. He knew he should tell Gaius about Morgana, though he wouldn’t be surprised if Gaius had at least begun to notice the symptoms of her magic in her nightmares. He doubted Gaius knew she was a Changeling, though—and that was the more immediate problem.

This was because Changelings, especially new ones, had the tendency to slip shift—shifting instantly, and against one’s will. It was uncommon, but it happened to every Changeling at least once. Merlin had to admit that Will took his best friend exploding into a dragon whilst they were in the forest collecting firewood rather well. Merlin frowned as the memories of his childhood friend floated to the surface, little glasses clicking together as he searched through them.

For most people, slip shifting wasn’t a big problem. You slip, ruin a set of clothes perhaps, and people accept it, people expect it—but it was a different story if your shift would sentence you to death by its very nature. No wonder Morgana seemed stressed.

Merlin grabbed a tincture of chamomile from the shelf, and placed it on the table. It actually could have been water, like it was when Merlin made it for himself, but chamomile had a relaxing effect and gave Merlin a good cover story.

He held his hands above the phial and began to chant. His eyes flashed gold and the liquid in the phial turned from yellow to pale orange. Merlin smiled. A few drops a day and no worrying about slip shifting.

Merlin went back to the castle and headed straight for Morgana’s room. He stopped in front of the heavy door and knocked.

“Come in,” he heard Morgana call lightly.

Merlin opened the door and spotted Morgana standing by the desk, hands linked in front of her. She wore a dress made of soft blue velvet. As always she looked gorgeous, but now that Merlin was looking, there were faint bags under her eyes, and her cheeks looked hollow. A pang of sympathy tugged at Merlin’s heart.

“Merlin,” Morgana said sweetly in greeting.

“Lady Morgana,” Merlin said, nodding as he approached. “Gaius wanted me to give you this.”

Merlin handed over the phial with the potion inside. She looked it over, brows dipping.

“He already gave me a sleeping draught,” Morgana said.

“Oh, this is something else,” Merlin assured. “It’s a chamomile tincture.”

Merlin was watching her closely, as he always did when he lied. He’d become rather good at the art of judging people. Morgana was confused but she didn’t seem to doubt Merlin’s words.

“What’s it for?” she asked.

She held it up so the sun from the window made the contents look a little fiery. Merlin fiddled with his sleeve behind his back.

“It has a calming effect. Gaius says just a couple of drops before bed,” Merlin said. “You’ve just seemed a bit tense lately.”

Morgana’s face turned guarded and Merlin cursed internally. He was supposed to be helping, not making her feel like she’s been noticed.

“Because of your nightmares,” Merlin assured in a rush, and he almost sighed in relief when she smiled again. “I promise this will help.”

Her face softened further, but her eyes glittered with amusement.

“How kind of Gaius,” Morgana said knowingly.

Merlin flushed and scratched the back of his neck.

“Yes, _Gaius_ assured me that this will help,” Merlin said.

Merlin should probably have just gone then, but it didn’t feel like enough. There wasn’t time yet, to do what he wanted to—he had to think about it, and Arthur was waiting, but he couldn’t just say nothing. The smile slid off his face, and he looked up earnestly.

“Morgana… you’re not alone—I mean, if you need anything—” Merlin tried to say, and failed miserably.

But his sincerity was clear and Morgana’s lips curled at corners.

“Thank you. You’re a good friend. I’m so fortunate to have people like you and Gwen… and even Arthur,” she said, with a little laugh. “In my life.”

Merlin’s face was bright, then he turned away, ducking his head a bit. He knew Arthur must be getting impatient.

“Merlin,” Morgana’s voice stopped him, and the mischief had faded from her eyes. Merlin looked over his shoulder and waited. “Honestly… thank you.”

Merlin gave her an unbridled smile, trying to pour all the reassurance he could into the miniscule gesture. He wished that he could do more, but in that moment he vowed to help her. Morgana wouldn’t be alone.

And, he thought as he made his way to Arthur’s chambers, neither was Merlin.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

Arthur removed his red cloak and replaced it with the new one as soon as they were beyond the eyes on the walls of Camelot. He was pleased, and a little surprised, at the quality of the unassuming garment. It was a simple grey in colour, but the fabric was thick and heavy, and the dark lining was soft. He was starting to believe Merlin’s past failures in similar tasks _may_ have been deliberate.

Speaking of his impertinent servant—his sorcerer, his mind added, which sent a strange thrill through him that he couldn’t assign a value of good or bad to yet—Merlin on the other hand had kept his new cloak tucked into his pack right up until they reached the feet of the White Mountains late on the second evening of their travels. The mountain range ran east to west through Camelot’s land, which meant that they had a day or two more of riding through the foothills with the snow-capped monoliths on their left before they reached the lower western summit where Arthur knew the watchtower resided.

That night they slept curled close to the fire. Arthur kept his cloak tucked tight around him, even under his blankets atop his bedroll. Not long after they lay down, Merlin began to shiver under the onslaught of cold air slipping down off the slopes of the mountains. The fire snapped and cracked but Arthur knew it would die down in a few hours, and even now it wasn’t enough to stave off the cold.

Arthur tried to ignore Merlin’s shuddering. It served him right for being so stubborn—all because Arthur had insulted his stupid coat, a completely _justified_ insult. The thing _had holes_.

The fire fell to coals and Merlin’s teeth started to chatter. Arthur sighed heavily. He rolled and reached over to the packs, roughly yanking the rolled-up cloak from its confines, and throwing it at Merlin’s face.

“Shut up,” Arthur grunted, and pulled his blankets back up around his neck. “Idiot.”

He pretended not to watch as Merlin fumbled with the cloak and spread it over himself. His shivering stopped and Arthur fell asleep.

 

The next morning Merlin tied the cloak tight around his neck and wore it for the entirety of the day, coat tucked away. Arthur debated dropping back and trying to sneak the coat out of his pack and then throwing it into the nearest river, but then he noticed Merlin feeling at the material when he thought Arthur wasn’t looking—of course Arthur _was_ looking; he didn’t seem to be able to do anything _but_ look these days. He saw when Merlin put his hood up, pausing to rub the lining against his cheek briefly. Arthur’s lips pressed together as he looked forward and poorly suppressed a smile that Merlin didn’t notice.

“You like it,” Arthur said into his bowl of beans as he and Merlin sat in front of the fire that night.

“What?” Merlin asked, spoonful of beans in his mouth, brow furrowing.

“The _cloak_ ,” Arthur clarified, nodding towards the garment. “You like it.”

Merlin glanced down at the fabric secured tightly around his shoulders, holding his own spoon and bowl defensively.

“It’s just… a little warmer is all,” Merlin said, stuffing more beans in his mouth.

Arthur smirked, not buying it for a second.

“I thought we agreed that we wouldn’t lie anymore, Merlin,” Arthur teased, watching Merlin closely, feeling that tender sort of glee only Merlin could bring out in him.

Merlin grumbled something very rude that Arthur elected not to hear, focusing instead on the flush climbing up the Changeling’s neck and the pink rising on his cheekbones. It brought an even larger smile to Arthur’s face. In moments like these he was overwhelmed with the urge to touch Merlin, tackle him, grab him, just to hear the way he would squawk. He’d always been particularly tactile with Merlin, and even more so of late. Though, recently it hadn’t been the urge to manhandle and wrestle. There were… other impulses. Ones that made him sigh when he woke alone in the dark.

“Consider it a gift,” Arthur said suddenly, and Merlin raised a brow. “For your birthday.”

Merlin looked unimpressed.

“My birthday was last month,” Merlin said.

“I _know_ ,” Arthur said a bit defensively. “And I didn’t get you anything then, so…”

He gestured emphatically to the cloak, starting to regret his thoughtless words—because he actually _had_ known it was Merlin’s birthday. He’d just been at a loss. He didn’t know what to get Merlin, or if he even should. Normally he would have asked Merlin about what to get someone—actually, he would have just made Merlin get it—but clearly in that particular scenario it hadn’t really been an option. So instead he had just let Merlin leave early and spent the rest of the day feeling, for once, like the prat Merlin consistently dubbed him.

“I assumed princes didn’t buy gifts for their servants,” Merlin said, mocking. “Seems like it would fall into the same category as drinks.”

Another time Arthur might point out that Merlin drank Arthur’s wine all the time, which was basically the same thing, but for some reason he felt uncharacteristically frustrated. He knew Merlin liked him… and Arthur knew he did give him a hard time, but sometimes he was just trying to be _nice_ and—

“Just once, Merlin, would it kill you to just shut up and say thank you when I’m trying to—I just wanted to…” Arthur groused, stabbing at the beans in his bowl and refusing to look at the insufferable creature across the fire. “You’re not just my…”

There was silence, and Arthur felt Merlin’s eyes on him. He heard the Changeling sigh.

“I do like it,” Merlin said, and Arthur was surprised to look up and find his face sincere. Merlin grinned softly. “It’s a very nice cloak. I mean, of course it is. I picked it out.”

Arthur’s lips quirked back for a second but the bad taste left by the reminder of the distance still between them remained. A line appeared between Merlin’s eyebrows, face growing serious.

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I’m… I’m being an ass. Sometimes I don’t think I can help it,” Merlin said and then giggled. “Oh god, you must be rubbing off on me.”

Arthur snorted and the knot in his chest loosened. Merlin and Arthur sat across from each other, teasing, just the two of them. Arthur threw a pebble at the sorcerer’s head, and Merlin dodged, laughing harder.

Silence fell, but comfortably now. They didn’t talk again until they were finished with their dinners and Merlin had washed the bowls and spoons in the nearby creek.

“We should arrive at our destination by tomorrow afternoon, early evening at the latest,” Arthur said when Merlin returned.

He tucked the bowls back into the packs, nodding once.

“Are you ready?” Arthur asked.

Merlin looked up at him.

“Are you?” he replied quietly.

There was an undercurrent of worry and fear in his words, and Arthur understood what he meant. There would be no going back after tomorrow. Arthur refused to be a coward though; he wouldn’t choose ignorance. Not only did he _need_ to know, to see what Merlin really was, he _wanted to_. He wanted to know Merlin in the way only Merlin knew Arthur.

“Sleep, Merlin,” Arthur said. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

Bigger than he realised.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

The tower was old, but the stones still stood proudly on the mountainside. It hadn’t been used since before Uther’s reign, when Camelot was smaller and the border of the Kingdom of Caerleon lay just beyond the west tip of the White Mountains. Merlin hadn’t actually known any of this until that morning when Arthur had recounted the history of the region. He was always a bit surprised when Arthur displayed intelligence like this—not that Arthur was stupid. He just never really came off as very academic, but he must have had many tutors as a child, and when it came to his realm he learned and he remembered.

When they had finished untacking the horses and put them out to graze beside the tower, Merlin’s heart began to race in his chest. What was he going to do? What did Arthur really want?

The tower wasn’t as abandoned as Arthur claimed, and Merlin was gratefully distracted when they entered the stone structure and were greeting with the coo of the owl that seemed to have taken up residence in the rafters. Arthur scowled but Merlin just giggled. He looked around the open space. It was pretty barren, and very dusty, but there was a large fireplace Merlin would happily make use of later.

“Well, should I start supper?” Merlin tried, but it was early still and Arthur clearly had no interest in food.

“Supper can wait,” Arthur said, and he was looking at Merlin expectantly.

Merlin’s stomach flip flopped, and not in the sort of good way it sometimes did when Arthur looked at him. This was pure nerves.

“So, you just want me to…” Merlin trailed off and gestured abstractly with his hands.

Arthur just nodded.

“Right. Okay,” Merlin said, looking around, realising this was _not_ the proper venue. “Let’s…”

He didn’t finish, just turned back towards the door and began to walk, feeling Arthur on his heels. The western summits of the White Mountains were lower than their younger, snow-capped eastern sisters. All around them was rolling green, tough grass tossed and flattened by the erratic gusts. Merlin walked them far away from the tower, only stopping when Arthur called his name. He stopped, and stood stock still. His heart rabbited in his chest.

“Merlin?”

“Are you sure you want to see this—are you sure you want me—” Merlin looked over his shoulder and his eyes were wide with fear.

Arthur’s brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong, Merlin?” he asked, taking a step forward, hand twitching up as if he meant to reach up to cup Merlin’s cheek but settled on his arm beneath his cloak instead.

Merlin felt frozen on the spot.

“I’m afraid… I’m afraid that once you see me, Arthur—see what I can do, you won’t be able to look at me the same,” Merlin confessed.

Arthur’s eyes bored into him, as if he had the same concern, but then something shifted. He smiled an achingly kingly smile. He’d grown so much since Merlin met him, he mused.

“It’s okay, Merlin. I promise that won’t happen,” Arthur said, and his blue eyes held Merlin fast, words and soft gaze already calming the storm inside his body. “I promise I will always see you as the idiot I know you to be.”

It came as a surprise, as did the shocked laugh that burst from Merlin’s chest, dissolving into giggles, and just like that Merlin was okay. He was more than okay. Arthur wanted to see this, and the young warlock felt exhilarated.

He took a deliberate step away and turned from Arthur, facing the open slopes. Already his magic was humming inside him, beginning to wake, spreading through his body—as if it knew it was finally time. The wind whipped his cloak around him, roared in his ears. With a flick of his wrist it stopped. His cloak rested quietly and Merlin heard Arthur’s breath catch.

“Don’t hold back,” Arthur said.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder, grin crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“I won’t,” Merlin said, and the magic welled up as he called it forward.

He knew his magic was different than other sorcerers’. It was elemental, wild and strong, and it coursed and bubbled through him like a rushing river careening towards a waterfall, singing in ways he’d never allowed it to before. He closed his eyes, lifted both hands, and then Merlin set his magic free.

 

There was silence, but then a low harmonious hum began to resonate from Merlin. His eyes were closed, but below those delicate lids he knew his irises must have been awash with gold. There was a pulse of light, like a flicker coming from inside Merlin’s body, and then a huge flash that made Arthur throw his hands up over his face.

When he opened his eyes, it at first seemed like nothing was happening, but then Arthur noticed that the dew from the grass had begun to rise. It floated up, glinting in the sun like thousands of tiny polished glass beads. They levitated, hovering slowly around like fairy lights, and Arthur watched them until a joyous giggle drew his attention. Merlin’s eyes were open now, taking in what he’d done, and they were golden indeed.

And happier than Arthur had ever seen them.

He clenched the fingers on one raised hand and the droplets began to spin around him; he twisted the other and the dew started to come together, forming, taking shape, and in seconds a graceful serpent made of water floated and swam above Merlin’s head. It began to dance. It dipped and rose, twisted and turned, as Merlin moved, like a magical puppeteer, face glowing. Arthur gasped when it dove at him and Merlin laughed loud and free as he sent the creature curling around Arthur’s body, as close as possible without touching—around his ankles, through his legs, twisting up and over his shoulder and around his neck. Arthur didn’t move until it took off again, his head snapping up to watch it as it exploded into a delicate mist, sending rainbows arching over their heads.

Arthur realised that he’d stopped breathing and took a shuddering inhale, but Merlin was nowhere near finished. He raised his hands higher above him and the wind returned with a vengeance, stronger and more furious than before. Black clouds gathered above them and Arthur’s lips parted as the first flash of lighting crackled through the clouds and thunder shook his bones. The storm grew and grew, Arthur sheltered his face from the wind as Merlin set the very sky on fire. The dark clouds crackled continuously, making them look like hot coals. Merlin moved his arms in an upraised circle and the clouds began to swirl, condensing, tighter, angrier, and Arthur waited for the thrill of fear to come but all the prince felt was awe.

The clouds hissed and bellowed at Merlin’s will, and when it seemed he might shake the whole mountain down, he threw his hands towards the earth, and at least ten thick columns of lighting kissed the ground on the mountainside before them, burning into the rock and dirt.

Then they were gone and the clouds began to fade, and when the sun touched Merlin’s face there was peace there, and he dropped to his knees, head bowing. And finally Arthur did feel a bit of fear, but _for_ , not towards the young sorcerer, but then he saw the light still glowing brightly in his eyes and saw that he had his fingers dug into the grass. For a moment nothing seemed to happen, but then Arthur noticed little red and gold flowers sprouting between Merlin’s fingers and movement in the black scars left by the lighting. Trees began to sprout, first just from the charred scars, but then between them, and shrubs and wildflowers started to poke their heads from the ground. The earth beneath Arthur’s feet shook.

The purest form of happiness glowed on Merlin’s face, flushing his cheeks with it and making him look like a child as he watched the trees rise higher and an entire forest was springing to life at his fingertips—and in that moment Arthur realised that no matter the magnitude of the power Merlin wielded, it was a power of light. What Arthur saw—this wasn’t evil. It was archaic, ancient—unrestrained and free, but not evil. Arthur heard the chirping of birds.

No… this was wondrous. It was beautiful.

White flowers bloomed on every bough of every tree, snowy stars on the backdrop of an emerald sky and Merlin stood slowly. He looked out silently. A quiet breeze swept his fringe away from his eyes as he turned back towards Arthur, eyes still gilded and shining. Arthur didn’t move as Merlin stepped forward and took Arthur’s hand, turning his palm to the sky. He held his own loose hand above Arthur’s, grinning softly.

There was one more flash of gold in his eyes and they faded back to blue as he released Arthur’s hand, and there in his palm was a little sapphire butterfly, raising and lowering its wings. Arthur watched as it flew away and Merlin laughed, contented smile curling his lips.

Arthur realised it wasn’t just Merlin’s magic that was wondrous and beautiful.

“So… what do you think, sire?” he asked, and Arthur had no idea how to say what he was thinking—because it was really a feeling more than any coherent thoughts.

“There aren’t words for what you can do, Merlin,” Arthur said, shaking his head back and forth minutely.

Thankfully Merlin realised that Arthur didn’t mean that in any kind of bad light. He must have seen the wonder in Arthur’s eyes. His ears turned red and he looked down, rubbing his neck.

And of course Merlin wasn’t beautiful like Guinevere or Morgana. It wasn’t that kind of beauty, but instead it was a sort of light that radiated out from every line of his body, and to Arthur, in that moment, he might have been the most gorgeous creature to which the prince had ever borne witness.

It wasn’t just the magic, either. It was the thing that made him ache when Merlin’s face wasn’t the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. It was the feeling of confidence that bloomed in him when Merlin stood beside him, and the thing that hurt when Merlin hurt, and revelled in his servant’s pride and loyalty. It was the thing that had, for a long time now, wanted to say ‘stay’ whenever he told Merlin he could go.

It was the knowledge that Arthur held deep down that Merlin loved him—more fully and unconditionally than anyone else in this world or the next. It was the fact that he still couldn’t fully understand why, but needed it fiercely all the same.

Instead of acting on this realisation, the overwhelmed prince divulged the secret reason they’d come so far for this. Though, now that he’d seen what Merlin’s magic could do, he saw that they would have needed to come this far to conceal his display anyway.

“Merlin, there’s another reason I had us come here,” Arthur said.

“Hm?” Merlin asked, cocking his head as a flower laden branch dipped in the wind behind him.

“There’s not a village for miles. There isn’t a prominent road this side of the mountains,” Arthur said, but Merlin clearly wasn’t getting Arthur’s implications. “I’m saying there’s no one to look up.”

The Changeling blinked twice, and Arthur could see it begin to sink in.

“Merlin, you can fly here.”

He didn’t move for long seconds.

“What…?” he asked in disbelief.

Merlin’s shock helped defuse Arthur’s and the prince smiled.

“See? You’re still definitely an idiot,” Arthur said, but sobered when Merlin just continued to stare at him. “Merlin, you can shift, take wing in these mountains.”

Merlin didn’t say anything but his fingers shot up to the ties of his cloak. It pooled around his feet but then he froze again, face raised skyward.

“I can’t,” Merlin blurted.

“You can,” Arthur assured. “Don’t be a baby, Merlin. Are you a dragon or not?”

He was breathing quickly and shallowly, eyes trained on a big puffy white cloud that had rolled overhead.

“I am,” he answered absently.

Arthur responded impatiently, but only because he knew Merlin needed a push. Once when he was young he came down with a fever that left him weak and bedridden for a month. He’d been terrified to pick up a sword again, afraid he’d forgotten how, or that he wouldn’t be able to lift it with the way his young muscles had atrophied.

He had to imagine what Merlin was feeling now was like that, but a hundred times over.

“Well, go on then.”

He poured assurance into his gaze, and Merlin’s eyes flashed down to Arthur’s, held for a second—and then the Changeling burst out of his skin.

 

He forgot even to take the rest of his clothing off. It ripped and scattered to the wind, shreds of fabric floating down the mountain.

Merlin’s claws kneaded the earth. He spread his wings in a flash, but stuttered once more. Could he do it? Would his wings even lift his body anymore or had they long since given up on him?

“I think you have to move them,” Arthur’s voice drew his gaze back down.

Prince Arthur stood before him, looking at him like there was no doubt in his mind that Merlin would leap into the sky any second. Arthur brought him here to fly. He took Merlin all this way. He’d seen Merlin’s magic—he’d seen _Merlin_. Nobody had seen him like Arthur had seen him now—and yet nothing seemed to have changed in Arthur’s eyes.

And Arthur brought him here to spread his wings again. Arthur probably didn’t see it as a gift, but it was to Merlin—a gift that there could never be enough words to show gratitude for.

“Go,” he said, bluster slipping away, only clear blue eyes, bare of the arrogance he so often wore as a shield—leaving Arthur, just Arthur, no prince but a man.

Merlin ducked his head on an impulse, tucked his face gently into Arthur’s neck and cheek, almost a nuzzle, the closest thing to a hug as he was able in this form.

“Thank you,” Merlin rumbled into his ear.

Then he snapped his wings up and back down and leapt, turning his nose to the sky. In the corner of his eye he saw Arthur’s cloak whip back, his hair tousle, manipulated by the whirlwind created by Merlin’s laboured flapping. Merlin was rising, going up with each beat of underused wings. There was a slight protesting in his shoulders and chest but it didn’t even warrant a single thought.

He was flying.

The earth seemed to drop away below him, getting further and further away, until the flowers on the trees faded into the leaves. The tower looked like a toy and Merlin’s wings continued to reach and snap, pushing air down, pushing himself higher. He bellowed, pouring unrestrained euphoria into the atmosphere. He felt his heart thudding against his ribs; he felt the air grow colder with each drag into his lungs as he breathed deeply and laughed it out, warmed by the fire in his body.

Merlin kept going, flying up until he could see the curvature of the earth. He could see the amber glow of the sun starting to set. He could spot the indigo wave beginning to climb into the sky from the east.

Merlin wondered whether if he kept flying like this, he could meet the moon in the sky when it rose.

But Arthur was on earth, not the moon. Merlin stopped climbing when the air around him started to feel ridiculously thin. He hovered there a moment, stilling his wings, feeling weightless, and then he began to fall. It definitely started as a fall at least, a graceless tumble, but then Merlin righted himself adjusted his wings, feeling the drag like sails on a ship and he was diving now. He roared out in exhilaration and pure glee.

Merlin’s eyes focused on the ground, trying to pick out which grey dot was Arthur. The dragon dropped like a stone towards the forest of his own making, wings flaring out when he was still fairly high above the trees. He wheeled down towards the canopy, and then skated over the treetops. He caught a flower in his claws and then flapped to gain altitude again, giving himself room to bank, to spin. He wondered if he could fly a complete loop, but decided it wasn’t a good idea on these unsteady, untested supports.

He spotted Arthur on a knoll beyond the forest, hand spread over his eyes to shade them from the sinking sun. Even from this distance Merlin could see the white of his teeth, which must have been exposed in the biggest of smiles as he watched Merlin fly. He banked towards him, diving close over his head and hearing the prince whoop and then laugh before the wind swallowed the sounds.

Merlin had never felt so overjoyed in his life, and it was all thanks to the man watching from the ground, which gave the Changeling an idea.

He twisted back towards Arthur, back-flapping, revelling in the instincts that came so easily as he landed. Arthur beamed at him like the glow of a candle and the flash of steel. He opened his mouth to speak but Merlin didn’t give him the chance to utter a single word. He darted forward, agile and graceful for a creature bigger than a horse.

“Merlin, what are you—”

But Merlin was already lunging, snaking his neck between Arthur’s thighs from behind and pushing forward until he felt Arthur’s weight on his shoulders.

“ _Merlin, don’t you dare!”_ Arthur shouted as he realised a second in advance what was about to happen.

“Hold on, sire,” Merlin said as he began to beat his wings forcefully again, and as soon as he felt Arthur pitch forward and close his arms in a vice grip around Merlin’s neck, he leapt back into the air.

Arthur’s protest turned to a single shout and then died as Merlin took off laughing. He felt his wings strain but he just didn’t care. This was the most fantastic thing in the world.

“Merlin, you put me down _now!_ ” Arthur said over the wind. “ _Merlin!_ ”

The dragon only laughed harder, taking them a little higher. He kept it a slow incline, not actually trying to scare Arthur’s pants off.

“It’s okay,” Merlin assured. “I’ve got you— _look_ …”

And Arthur did. Merlin knew the moment he did, when the prince’s body stopped trying to turn itself to stone or meld into the dragon’s scales. Merlin flew him over the forest, the tower and the grass, and Arthur’s death grip lessened further. Merlin felt him sit himself up to see better, seating himself more like he would on a horse instead of an angry bull—which was more appropriate considering Merlin was definitely not trying throw him off.

Merlin turned his head to the side as much as he dared, spying Arthur out of the corner of his eye. He was staring out over the earth, over his kingdom, over Camelot. His hair was blown back and his eyes were like stars as he smiled so wide it made his cheeks as round and red as apples. And now that he wasn’t surprised, he seemed to be as bold and fearless as ever. He caught Merlin watching and laughed freely.

And it was clear to Merlin that today the sun hadn’t been the most brilliant thing in the sky.

“Merlin,” Arthur said over the roar of the rushing air. “This is amazing!”

He had to agree, and something that wasn’t magic but sure felt a hell of a lot like it bubbled up in Merlin’s chest as he gently wheeled and began to glide back towards the tower—and Merlin wasn’t sure what he was going to do but he knew he couldn’t do it in this form.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last part should be up soon! Thanks for your patience. Comments and kudos are much appreciated <3


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to get out! Enjoy!!

Arthur felt exhilarated as they coasted towards the ground, the watchtower growing from a model on a war table to full size as they approached. He had just experienced something that few Normals could even dream of being gifted with. He wouldn’t have even thought to ask for such a thing; he hadn’t even fathomed that he would want this—but his eyes were watering, sending gust-pricked tears back into his windblown hair and his smile was nearly painful on his cheeks.

There was a small whirlwind and Arthur rocked forward as Merlin’s landing jarred them.

“Well, I know you were worried about being able to get off the ground,” Arthur said as he swung a leg over Merlin’s neck to slide to the ground. “But I think you—”

The dragon disappeared as soon as Arthur’s boots hit the grass, and suddenly there was a very naked warlock in his space.

“Merlin?”

Hands bracketed Arthur’s face. He felt warm palms on his jaw, and fingertips on his temples and his extensive training had not prepared him for the way Merlin’s lips felt as they suddenly met Arthur’s. The prince didn’t, couldn’t, move. It felt like his feet had rooted themselves to the earth and all that his brain had managed to do was bring his hands up to grab Merlin’s before it shut off completely, and after a moment Merlin pulled away. Arthur’s hold at least ensured Merlin didn’t get too far before he started to talk.

“Arthur, I—um, I—”

Merlin’s eyes were wide, as if he was almost as shocked by what had just occurred as Arthur.

Actually, Arthur wasn’t paying that much attention to the sorcerer’s astonished eyes, though. His focus was a bit lower, on Merlin’s lips, where his tongue darted out to wet them.

Almost like Arthur was in a trance, almost like it was the only possible course of action in the world, Arthur slid one hand down, around Merlin’s waist to pull him closer, and one hand up, to brush over the line of his jaw and back to bury his fingers in black hair. Merlin’s eyelashes fluttered down to meet his cheeks as a stuttering breath escaped his lungs, and Arthur paused as he felt the soft puff against his lips just before his own lids fell—and then there was no space between them at all.

A low sound rumbled in Arthur’s throat and Merlin’s arms came back up to wind around Arthur’s neck—and Arthur couldn’t even think straight as his arm tightened around Merlin’s lower back, fingers curling over the ridge of Merlin’s slim, bare hip.

Arthur tilted his head to begin moving his lips adamantly over Merlin’s, and Merlin took everything Arthur had to give him, drinking him in, pulling him down. Merlin let out an abortive gasp when Arthur’s tongue darted out to trace the corner of his mouth and then plunged deep. Arthur groaned from his core, resonating out to his ribs, when Merlin’s tongue slid against his own with equal fervour, pouring his taste into Arthur’s mouth.

Arthur thought Merlin tasted like warm water, or maybe starlight—he tasted like something Arthur never wanted to stop tasting, that was for sure. His arms tightened further around Merlin’s wiry frame, so happy that he wasn’t wearing any mail, so Merlin’s naked body could be felt through the minimal layers of clothes Arthur wore beneath his cloak. The prince’s fingers massaged Merlin’s neck, played with the hair at his nape.

Merlin leaned his full weight into Arthur, but soon goose bumps rose on his skin, and when he started to shiver, Arthur was fairly sure they weren’t from arousal. Not that he wasn’t aroused, but that evidence was found elsewhere, like pressed against Arthur’s thigh. He pulled back when Merlin gave a particularly forceful shudder. Merlin laughed softly, red in the face, when their gazes met.

“Um—inside?” he asked, and Arthur was speechless but his hand shot out to twine with Merlin’s and the sorcerer giggled as he let himself be dragged towards the nearby tower.

Arthur stopped after a few steps though, judging the small but definitely present distance between the two of them and the tower, and pulled the cloak from around his neck and then wrapped it around Merlin’s pale shoulders.

“You don’t have to…” Merlin laughed, seeming amused or just surprised by Arthur’s unexpected chivalry.

“Shut up,” Arthur said in response and then continued his original task of pulling Merlin towards the watchtower.

Merlin stumbled after Arthur’s sure steps, shivering in the cold and watching the way their fingers were twisted together. He pulled the hood over his head and felt the cold grass bite at his feet and shook his head. Arthur kept glancing back at him, like if he didn’t Merlin might disappear.

It was Merlin who wrenched open the heavy, half decaying wood door, and Arthur who slammed it shut behind them as Merlin pulled at the ties around his neck and let the cloak drop to the dusty floor. The owl in the rafters seemed to have disappeared, gone out to meet the rising moon.

It was fairly dark behind the closed door, the only light coming from the slit windows far above their heads, dimming further as the sun set behind the horizon. Merlin went straight to Arthur’s pack and yanked the prince’s fur-lined bedroll free. Arthur dropped to his knees beside Merlin where he was spreading it out beside the empty fireplace. He couldn’t stop touching, kissing Merlin’s shoulders, his back, his skin, whenever it was in reach. Arthur grabbed Merlin as soon as the roll was flat, pushing him onto his back and crawling over him. Merlin didn’t seem to be able to stop smiling, giggling, and gasping as Arthur planted a knee on either side of his waist and dipped his head.

He didn’t seem to mind that he was fully naked while Arthur was fully clothed, taking him in—but then Merlin had had always fit the Changeling stereotype of careless nudity. Since they couldn’t shift with clothing, they apparently were more used to being naked than Normals, or so it had been explained to Arthur. The past weeks of having Merlin shift in his chambers definitely supported the claim, though.

Merlin turned his head to the side, looking around Arthur’s arm towards the hearth and raised a hand.

“ _Forbearnan!_ ” Merlin said over a grin and set a flame roaring to life in the fireplace.

Light washed over them and glorious heat followed.

“You like that, don’t you,” Arthur said, lowering his head to kiss Merlin’s neck.

Merlin’s fingers fisted into Arthur’s tunic, pressing his knuckles into the prince’s ribs.

“Yes,” Merlin confirmed breathily. “I love using it. It likes to be used.”

“What does it feel like?” Arthur asked into the pulse point at the base of Merlin’s neck.

“It feels… there aren’t words for it,” Merlin forced out as Arthur’s tongue and teeth made their way back up, marking then soothing. “I think it might feel like what you feel when you take up a sword.”

Merlin’s hand brushed along the hilt of the sword still strapped to Arthur’s belt, and Arthur’s eyes screwed shut. Merlin continued.

“I think it feels like what you feel when I place a circlet upon your brow… it feels… _right_.”

Arthur paused and just breathed into the hollow below Merlin’s ear, letting that sink in. And though Merlin claimed there weren’t words, he’d found them. Arthur understood.

_I have my magic for you, Arthur. It’s always been for you._

The memory of the words floated back to Arthur in that moment and in the context of the miracles he’d witnessed today, it shook him to his very core, but not in a bad way.

No, not in a bad way.

It was a way that made him desperate, needy. He needed to show Merlin that he understood, what it meant to Arthur. He kissed Merlin’s earlobe and then drew his tongue over the shell of his ear and delighted in the way it made Merlin convulse beneath him.

 _“Arthur!_ ” he gasped.

Arthur hummed, pleased by the response as he dipped his hand behind Merlin’s neck to tilt the sorcerer’s head, kissing along his jaw and back to his lips. He dipped his tongue into Merlin’s mouth and the Changeling sucked, pulling sounds from Arthur’s throat and then swallowing them down.

Merlin’s fingers quickly removed Arthur’s sword and belt, then came up to undo the ties on Arthur’s tunic and together they quickly divested Arthur of his shirts and carelessly tossed them away. Arthur shut his eyes as Merlin’s barely roughened palms skated over the newly exposed flesh. The fire cast an orange glow over his skin, turning him golden, and Merlin seemed determined to paint over every inch of it with his hands, over his stomach, counting his ribs under toned muscle. Arthur tipped his head back, exposing his adam’s apple and making the tendons on his neck stick out. Merlin nipped at them as his hands began to unlace Arthur’s trousers with practiced efficiency, and Arthur’s breath came faster. Merlin’s knuckles brushed against him where he was hot and sensitive, inadvertently at first, and then more deliberately as he watched Arthur’s face.

“Don’t tease, Merlin,” Arthur ground out, half amused, half serious—because Merlin was honestly all but killing him, which seemed to make the warlock smile.

Soon, Arthur was naked as Merlin, and he lowered his body down, skin on smooth skin. Merlin choked out a curse when their hips aligned and clutched Arthur as the prince brought their lips back together. Their hands moved incessantly, taking in as much of each other as possible, fortifying the lines of each other’s bodies into memory.

Soon Arthur moved lower, pushing himself up to his knees so he could press open mouthed kisses over Merlin’s skin, never in the same spot, loving the way Merlin writhed minutely under the attentions. A small swirl of nerves started to spiral out in his gut as his lips met Merlin’s twitching stomach. He liked the feeling against his lips, loved how the trail of dark hairs below Merlin’s belly button felt under Arthur’s thumb as he traced it up and down, but when it came to what he had planned next, Arthur had no personal experience and it made his heart stutter and race.

He kissed over Merlin’s hip, lathing his tongue over the sharp ridge of bone and thought about how Merlin clearly needed more than a peasant’s faire. A young man like Merlin needed more than bread crusts and broth to reach his full potential, and Arthur tucked that observation away for later, vowing to remedy the problem in some way.

While Arthur had enjoyed the short mental distraction, it dissipated quickly as he came face to face with Merlin’s flushed cock. He slowed to a stop then and glanced up to find Merlin’s wild blue eyes watching him closely. One hand was twisted into the fur of the bedroll and the other hovered near his mouth, and if the teeth marks on the meat of his thumb were any indication, he’d been biting at it to stifle his noises.

“I haven’t… I mean I’ve never…” Arthur confessed, uncharacteristically ineloquent, but given his current circumstances he excused himself.

With Arthur’s status as Crown Prince, he could have possessed as much personal carnal knowledge as he wished, but his father’s talks about the meanings and repercussions of bastards had stuck with him well through his adolescent years. And though many a whore had offered their services in the military camps, the awkward dishonour in it, along with his father’s warnings, meant Prince Arthur’s experience was limited to a few women’s and one stable boy’s hands down his trousers in his early adolescence. And there’d been nothing but his own hand once his shame had outgrown his teenage urges.

“It’s alright,” Merlin said, voice wispy and thin, diving to places deep in Arthur’s belly. “You don’t have to…”

The look in his eyes said he couldn’t believe Arthur was even thinking about it, and that just further set it in stone for Arthur. He ran his hands up Merlin’s legs, pushing them up so that his feet were planted briefly on the bedroll.

“No. I want to. I just—tell me what feels good,” Arthur said, voice rough to his own ears as he pushed Merlin’s knees apart; his legs opened willingly.

Then Arthur lowered his mouth and Merlin moaned loudly, just the simple brush of lips. Arthur thought the fire was crackling louder. He drew his tongue up Merlin’s length once and then closed his mouth around the head of his cock. Merlin jerked like he’d been punched and Arthur slid a hand up and around Merlin’s leg to rest on his stomach and keep him from moving too much.

Then Arthur focused on the task at hand with a level of dedication usually reserved for the tourney field. He’d only heard about this act through his knights, and stumbled upon one or two couples in the middle of it during different feasts, but it seemed straight forward enough. Arthur sucked gently and danced his tongue experimentally around the head, then sucked harder again. Merlin made an utterly wounded noise and Arthur felt his fingers slide themselves into the prince’s hair, kneading at his scalp. Arthur hummed in response which led Merlin’s hips to try and twitch up into his mouth.

“ _Arthur…!_ ”

The prince wrapped his free hand around the base of Merlin’s cock and then stroked upwards, removing his mouth so he could look up at the Changeling above him.

“Is it good?” Arthur asked as he stroked Merlin like he did himself. “Merlin?”

The young warlock looked completely taken apart, simultaneously debauched and lilywhite. His fringe was beginning to curl with the sweat that had broken out on his forehead, from the fire or Arthur’s attentions he wasn’t sure, and his eyelashes were delicate fans against his rose-stained cheekbones. His dislodged hands touched Arthur’s cheeks and jaw, and the sound he made in response to Arthur’s question devolved into a near-sob when Arthur’s hand twisted around his length.

“ _Please_ , I can’t—I need,” Merlin said incoherently as Arthur kissed his knuckles and pressed his cheek into the soft of Merlin’s inner thigh, marvelling in the way his flush spotted chest was fluttering.

Finally, Merlin looked down at Arthur and their blue eyes met, except Merlin’s looked less blue and more like the colour of an ocean storm with how wide his pupils had blown; he looked mad, desperate. Arthur’s heavy cock twitched between his legs and he gasped, averting his gaze. It was too much, the love in Merlin’s eyes—the _devotion_.

He dropped his mouth back over Merlin and took him in as far as he could without choking, revelling in the cry it ripped from Merlin’s lips. Fingers gripped his hair again, like Merlin would slip away if he didn’t hold on. Arthur bobbed his head, gave everything to the simple act. His fingers splayed over the flat of Merlin’s stomach so he felt it when the muscles began to jump erratically.

Merlin’s shattered voice spilled Arthur’s name over his lips again and again.

“ _Arthur, I—_ ” he tried to warn, but Arthur could already feel it when the Changeling’s voice broke off and his spine bowed dramatically, knees drawing up and toes curling into the furs beneath them.

The fire roared, jumping two feet higher and threatening to spill over the hearth as the taste of Merlin bloomed on Arthur’s tongue. He sucked him through it, Merlin tight as a bowstring as he came, and Arthur only stopped when he collapsed with one last broken sigh.

When Arthur drew off and opened his eyes, he gasped gently, as the first thing he saw was a little crimson flower poking out from between the flagstones, bloom no bigger than his thumbnail—and it wasn’t alone. All around the bedroll, little red and gold flowers had sprouted.

Then Arthur’s attention was quickly dawn away by insistent hands on his face as Merlin pulled him up. He fell to Merlin’s lips willingly and groaned as the warlock licked up into his mouth, languid everywhere whilst Arthur was still tense as a tripwire. He gave when Merlin’s palms urged him onto his side. Their legs twined, bodies curved into one another. Merlin’s palm was hot against his cheek as his other hand drew a stripe down Arthur’s torso and then wrapped firmly around his cock. Arthur’s lips parted a little as lights sparked behind his eyelids.

Arthur opened his eyes to see Merlin’s heavy gaze on his face, backlit by the fire, intense, as Arthur panted into the little space between them. He screwed his eyes shut as Merlin stroked him, confident and sure. He felt Merlin’s lips on his nose, his cheeks, his eyes.

“ _Fuck…!_ ” Arthur breathed and felt Merlin’s resulting smile against his skin.

Merlin stroked him faster and Arthur sensed the white hot feeling low in his gut. He ground his head forward when he felt Merlin’s forehead press against his own.

“ _Merlin…_ ” Arthur all but growled.

“I’m here, Arthur. I’m here,” Merlin whispered. “Let go…”

Arthur moaned, right on the edge, feeling like everything was dropping away, leaving nothing but Merlin and infinite, sword-sharp pleasure—so close.

“Come for me, Arthur,” Merlin said. “Arthur…”

And that was it. Arthur shouted Merlin’s name as he came over their stomachs. Everything blanked out as Merlin stroked him through the aftershocks, faintly feeling kisses dropped on his brow.

After Arthur relaxed, still floating in a haze, utterly exhausted, he felt Merlin roll away but return quickly. There were gentle swipes over his skin and Arthur cracked his eyes open to see Merlin cleaning them off with Arthur’s tunic.

“Are you on a quest to ruin _all_ our clothes?” Arthur asked lazily.

“Thank you, Merlin, for making sure we don’t wake up sticky tomorrow because that would be horribly uncomfortable. _You’re welcome, sire, of course. Wouldn’t want you all stroppy when you wake up uncomfortable_ ,” Merlin murmured mockingly as he crawled over to yank the blankets from the pack. “Yes, Merlin, how thoughtful of you.”

Arthur’s fingers curled absently around Merlin’s thin ankle and his thumb brushed over the jut of bone. Merlin returned successfully and spread the blankets over their warm, damp bodies. Then Arthur grabbed him around the waist, tucking Merlin’s back against his chest.

The fire still burned hotly over them, beating back the cold mountain air that hounded the stone walls of the watchtower, and Arthur nosed his face into Merlin’s hair, feeling the strands on his lips, and let his eyes close, loving the feeling of Merlin boneless in his arms.

They were both asleep in minutes.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

Merlin woke in the middle of the night to see the fire, lower now, but still strong in the hearth. It was still dark and Merlin caught the moonlit silhouette of the owl in one of the high windows. He thought that he should give it a name… Merlin smelled Arthur, familiar scent saturating the air around him and making Merlin sigh contentedly. His spine pressed against Arthur’s chest and belly and he felt an arm around his own torso. He’d shifted down a little in his sleep, almost curled into a cocoon of Arthur’s body.

At first Merlin wasn’t sure what woke him, but then he noticed a hand in front of him, spinning a gold flower between his thumb and forefinger.

“Arthur?” Merlin murmured.

“You’re awake,” Arthur said, and his voice was low, but steady, leading Merlin to believe he’d been up a while.

His fingers continued to twist the flower, little veins in its petals catching the firelight and making it appear as if it was embedded with gilded flakes. Merlin knew Arthur was watching it turn.

“Yes,” Merlin said, forcing himself more fully into wakefulness.

The flower spun, and there was something heavy in the air.

“I’m going to change things, Merlin.”

Merlin turned in Arthur’s arms to see him face to face, shimmying up. Arthur’s eyes looked deep and full, and his fringe was messy over his forehead.

“How many times have you saved my life?” Arthur asked, and some other time he may have made a joke or brushed Arthur off.

Tonight though Merlin was warm and pliant with sleep, and Arthur’s gaze bore no tolerance for anything but the truth. Merlin dropped his eyes, taking in the fine hairs over Arthur’s chest as he thought about it.

“I don’t know,” Merlin murmured honestly. “Many… many times.”

“And Camelot?” Arthur said, tilting Merlin’s head back up with a hand on his chin.

Merlin’s heart beat hard and slow in his chest, that strange mix of emotions that only came in the night, a heavy sort of bitter sweetness.

“Once or twice,” Merlin said, understating in a way that he knew Arthur would see right through.

“And yet you’ve never asked for any sort of credit,” Arthur murmured.

“I don’t do it for credit,” Merlin said with a soft smile.

Arthur’s brow dipped.

“You deserve a knighthood.”

“I don’t want to be a knight, Arthur,” Merlin chuckled.

Arthur huffed in frustration.

“That’s not—I just mean, you deserve more than this. You shouldn’t have to lie, hide… I’m going to _fix_ things. I have to—”

“Arthur…” Merlin said, sobering. “It’s not that simple.

He knew things were changing for Arthur, but Arthur wasn’t king, and Uther’s stain had spread far.

“Your father is still the king. What he’s done, Arthur…” Merlin said, but didn’t bring up ancient history. They knew what happened in the Purge—and if Arthur didn’t that was for him to find out. “Gwen’s father was _burned_ at the stake. He wasn’t even a magic user. He was innocent and Uther had him burned to ash.”

Merlin’s breath had started coming faster.

“I know,” Arthur said, pained.

“And many people have bought into the kings hate, and the people still fear magic,” Merlin murmured. “So, for now, we can only wait… do what we can.”

It pained Merlin to have to say it. He wished he could tell Arthur to ride to Camelot and overthrow his father, but Arthur still loved Uther, and even more importantly Merlin knew what would happen to the kingdom, should that occur, better than anyone. Arthur grimaced. Merlin stroked his hair and flattened his fringe.

“It’s okay,” Merlin said, knowing that there was nothing Arthur hated more than feeling powerless.

“It’s not. It’s wrong,” Arthur said, opening his eyes and trapping Merlin with his gaze.

Merlin smiled, resting his hand on Arthur’s neck, feeling his pulse below his palm.

“I know,” Merlin said, and then he thought of someone else, wandering alone in the dark. “Arthur, tomorrow we have to go back to Camelot.”

This seemed to throw Arthur for a second. He raised a brow questioningly.

“Nobody will expect us for another week. I thought you might want to stay a few days. Fly… and… other things,” Arthur said, and a flush spread over his cheeks that made Merlin giggle and press a kiss to his lips.

There was a throbbing in his chest at the new sensation, this new freedom, available to him here at least, far away from the city and prying eyes.

“I want to… but, there’s something I need to show you,” Merlin said. “Something I need to do.”

Arthur’s brow just rose higher.

“And that is…?”

Merlin still couldn’t say yet. He didn’t know how. He poured reassurance into his gaze.

“Just trust me.”

“That seems inadvisable,” Arthur said, but acceptingly, and Merlin laughed out a soft breath as his heavy eyes slipped closed once more.

“Sleep,” Merlin said.

“You can’t tell me what to do. I am your prince,” Arthur said, but his voice was weighted with sleep, and he continued when Merlin didn’t respond, quieter, more serious. “One day things will be different…”

Arthur pulled him closer and tucked Merlin’s head under his chin.

“One day you will be king,” Merlin whispered, feeling Arthur’s arms tighten around him.

“With you at my side.”

Merlin felt dreams of the sky swallowing him down once more.

“Yes… always.”

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

Despite Merlin’s insistence that they should leave first thing in the morning, he didn’t seem to be moving very quickly when the sun began to rise and the annoying owl in the rafters tucked his head beneath his wing. Arthur had woken up before the Changeling, Merlin wrapped around him like a pale, clingy octopus. The prince flushed lightly as he looked down and felt a mix of offbeat awkwardness and pride at the lavender spots dotting Merlin’s smooth skin. He’d taken a deep breath and steadied himself, after brushing his knuckles down the side of Merlin’s exposed neck.

After Arthur had managed to get himself free, to the grunts and resistance of Merlin, the knight went outside, wearing only his breeches and a tunic to relieve himself. Merlin could help him dress properly when he awoke, Arthur had thought. That however, didn’t seem to be on the cards.

It was when he was making his way back that he heard the moaning, agonised, wrenching sounds. Arthur ran back through the door.

“Merlin?!”

The warlock was curled into a ball atop the furs, forehead tucked down to touch his knees. Arthur approached and kneeled beside him, hands fluttering over Merlin’s skin, uncovering no obvious explanation for Merlin’s apparent pains.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asked urgently.

Merlin opened his eyes and looked pitifully up at Arthur.

“My _back_ hurts.”

“Your back,” Arthur repeated, looking down the smooth expanse and seeing the delicate knobs of Merlin’s spine, but nothing on the surface that would explain the strain in Merlin’s voice.

“Yes,” Merlin confirmed. “I think it’s transference from my wings.”

Now it made sense. Merlin flew for the first time in years yesterday, carried Arthur, too. He doubted his wing muscles were up to that kind of exertion. No wonder he was sore. The fear that had sprouted at Merlin’s moaning dissipated as he realised that his dramatic servant would be just fine, in no more danger than Arthur was after he overexerted himself on the battlefield.

“So I guess we won’t be riding today,” Arthur said, but then Merlin’s eyes flew open.

“No, I want to go back today,” Merlin said, trying to get up, and then collapsing and whining pitifully again.

Arthur rolled his eyes and then scowled—but no matter how Arthur persuaded or griped, Merlin wouldn’t be moved, which was how they both ended up riding bareback on Hengroen, packs and extra saddle draped over Llamrei’s back, even though Arthur’s pride for his mare stung smartly at her being reduced to a pack animal.

Merlin sat sideways in front of Arthur, and that’s how they started out from the watchtower. Merlin quickly began to doze off to the sound of Arthur recounting the history of the Kingdom of Caelreon, wrapped in his grey cloak, tucked into Arthur’s chest as they began the journey back to Camelot.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

Merlin felt heaps better by the time they reached the city three days later. He was back on Llamrei by the time the great stone walls of Camelot came into view. They rode slower then, complicated emotions sprouting and twisting through the bodies of both young men.

“We’ll go to the watchtower again before long,” Arthur said as they swayed through the green field before the gates.

“I’d like that,” Merlin said, riding close enough that their knees brushed together.

They pulled liquid blue eyes apart, took a deep breath as one, together they passed the guards and into secrecy.

After dinner and a bath that Merlin had been bodily tugged into, half clothed and spluttering, the young warlock steeled himself against his nerves and prepared to take a leap. Arthur seemed to sense the seriousness in Merlin when he returned to the prince’s chambers in a fresh change of clothes. Arthur stood, putting aside whatever he’d been penning at his desk.

“So, are you finally going to tell me why we had to rush back to Camelot?” Arthur asked, and the rays from the setting sun wove themselves into his hair and wreathed him in watery gold.

“Yes,” Merlin said, but then fell quiet, just watching Arthur and the dark shadows that highlighted his jaw, strong and proud.

It was so quiet in the room, like the whole castle had stilled in preparation for what Merlin was about to say and do, cushioning the walls with silence, insulating them from anyone else.

“And that reason is…?” Arthur pressed, clearly only a second or two from calling Merlin an idiot.

Merlin looked down at the stone floor and filled his lungs up full, forcing his heart not to race, then looked up and held Arthur’s strong sky eyes.

“Morgana has magic. She is scared, confused, and all but alone,” Merlin said, slow and sure, so no doubt could be lain over his words. “I want you to help me fix that.”

 

Gwen opened the door when they knocked.

“Merlin?” she said, and then noticed Arthur standing behind him. “Arthur.”

She nodded and dipped lightly in a more respectful greeting.

“We came to talk to Morgana,” Merlin said and Gwen’s brows dipped at the seriousness in her friend’s tone.

“Gwen, who is it?” Morgana’s voice called from within and Merlin heard the sound of a chair being moved back and someone standing.

“It’s Merlin and Arthur, my lady,” Gwen said, opening the door for them.

Merlin walked in, following Gwen over to where Morgana stood next to her table. Her dinner was still laid out on the surface. Arthur closed the door behind them, locked it and then leaned back against the dark wood with his arms folded across his chest. He’d taken Merlin’s news well, but he was nervous that Merlin, for all his own sureness, was wrong. Merlin assured him it was going to be _fine,_ but the prince still had his guard up.

Unfortunately, for all his good intentions, Morgana seemed to notice Arthur’s odd behaviour, and Merlin wished he’d stop looking so threatening with his sword strapped to his hips and broody face going strong.

“What’s this about?” Morgana asked.

Now that he was actually here, Merlin had no idea where to start. Gwen was cleaning up some of the dishes, but her eyes and ears were clearly on the conversation. Merlin was glad she was here. If there was anyone besides Merlin who had proven she could keep a secret, it was Gwen.

And Merlin wanted her to know. He wanted her to know about him.

“I saw you and Gwen in the woods,” Merlin started.

The unsure smile on Morgana’s face dropped and returned in half a heart’s beat. Gwen dropped a plate and it clattered noisily on the tabletop.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Morgana said, voice raising, tinged already with a note of hysteria.

Merlin cursed internally.

“I mean—Morgana, we know. You’re a Changeling, and we know what your shift means, why you’ve been having nightmares—”

Morgan had already started shaking her head, eyes filled with panic. Her eyes flashed down involuntarily towards the knife on the table and Merlin’s heart broke a little. He hadn’t realised just how far down a road she already must be, but he should have.

He definitely should have.

He understood the fear, the overwhelming panic. He’d worn the same expression as he passively let himself bleed out on the forest floor. They were the wide eyes of a trapped animal, starving and cold, about to take the first chew into its own limb to free itself.

“I don’t know what you mean—I’m not—” Morgana said, and her hands shook like spring leaves.

Merlin took a step forward when Morgana began to back away, gaze flashing over to Arthur by the door, to his sword.

Arthur should have left the damn thing in his room. Boys with sticks.

Gwen looked scared, like she was trying to figure out what to do and coming up horribly short, eyes jumping from each of her friends and at a loss.

“Morgana! Wait!” Merlin said, desperate to salvage this before something really bad happened. “ _Morgana, just look at me!_ ”

Her seafoam eyes swung to Merlin, who was already holding his hand out, palm to the ceiling.

“ _Brádhand légeléoht!_ ”

Everyone in the room froze as a tamed flame sprung to life in Merlin’s hand. Gwen gasped sharply and Morgana’s eyebrows rose high, lips parting. Only Arthur kept his calm expression in place by the door, watching closely to see what would happen next.

Morgana still didn’t move, rapt like a mouse before a serpent or a child before a wonder. The light of the flames reflected on her thin cheeks, porcelain painted softly orange. When Merlin spoke next, his words were gentle and quiet.

“Morgana… it’s okay. You’re okay,” Merlin said, and when she looked to Arthur, gaze still laced with panic and confusion, as if she and Merlin might have to flee together now, Merlin smiled gently. “Arthur knows about me. He knows what I am.”

Merlin couldn’t help but look briefly at him, revelling in those words on his tongue, before turning back to Morgana, his body flooded with strength. He wasn’t completely surprised to find tears in Morgana’s eyes.

“I can help you, Morgana,” Merlin said with a featherlight grin. “You’re not alone in this.”

A sob broke from her and Merlin promptly crushed the flame as Morgana collapsed, overcome. He dropped to his knees in front of her. Arthur watched with a heavy look on his face, half smiling, but staying back, as if he knew this was a moment for Merlin.

“I’ve been so afraid. For so long,” she cried, fingers finding their way into Merlin’s shirt and he could only imagine the burden lifting from her shoulders.

Tears fell down Morgana’s cheeks. Gwen had a hand pressed over her lips and her eyes were glassy.

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t sooner—I couldn’t…” Merlin said, unsure of what exactly he was trying to say, but he knew Morgana understood when she lifted her face up and gave him a watery smile.

Then she put her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. Merlin held her back, smiling when he felt her chin on his shoulder. Merlin shot glances at Arthur and Gwen who were both still watching closely. Arthur gave him a small smile and Gwen rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes. Merlin focused back on Morgana, pulling back just a bit, catching her eye with a tentative but impish smile.

“Hey… I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Merlin said, mischief on his tongue.

Morgana turned her head to the side in confusion, and Merlin stood, carefully moving back a couple paces. He shifted with everyone watching. He heard both Gwen and Morgana gasp this time. Arthur just sighed and finally broke his silence.

“Seriously, Merlin, what did clothing ever do to you,” he said, toeing at a piece of Merlin’s shredded shirt.

Merlin rolled his eyes. He’d fix them with magic later.

“You’re a Changeling,” Gwen’s voice drew his gaze and regret pulsed painfully in Merlin’s chest. “You’re a dragon-shift.”

He dipped his head towards her, seeing the pure surprise on his face. She didn’t look at him accusingly, but the remorse was still strong in Merlin. They were friends, and she was a Changeling. The lie seemed worse when it had been to her.

“Yes. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you… I wanted to, but I…” Merlin felt heavy, sad, but Gwen’s face changed as she recovered from the shock, softening in understanding like only Gwen’s features could.

“It’s okay, Merlin,” Gwen said.

Merlin was going to say something but then there was the sound of more ripping and the sound of hooves landing on stone. And there she was, standing before Merlin, midnight grace. Her ears twisted low with her still-present nerves and shock as she pawed at the floor. Merlin lowered his head a bit so they were eye to eye. She was staring at him, utterly still. Then her eyes shifted again to Arthur by the door.

< _Boorish. Grand. Surprise. Knowledge._ >

The shift speech hit Merlin like a wave from the ocean, making him shudder from nose to tail. It made him shake like a cold wind but it spread through his body like warm water. It had been so long since he’d spoken to anyone in the language of Changelings, not since before he left home for Camelot, and neither Morgana nor Merlin were near practiced or familiar enough to use real words, but the beautiful images and feelings used to communicate were a gift to Merlin. He’d understood what she was asking well enough, regardless.

< _Affirmation. Comfort_. >

“Yes, Arthur really knows,” Merlin said aloud as well. “And he doesn’t condemn us.”

Merlin felt a hand on his flank and realised Arthur had finally approached. He looked so noble it was distracting to Merlin. Even so, Morgana took a clicking step backwards. Arthur lifted a hand, though, unflinching and running his fingers gently and briefly over the black silk between Morgana’s eyes. Her long-lashed eyes closed for a second, trembling like a doe in the forest as a hunter lowers a crossbow.

“Merlin can help you, Morgana, show you how to control your magic,” Arthur said deliberately, glancing at Merlin, whose head hovered over his shoulder. “Use it.”

Morgana’s head jerked back at that, ears swivelling forward. She looked to Merlin.

< _Astonishment. Overwhelmed. Magic. Activity. Good. Evil._ >

Merlin’s gaze warmed. He understood. It was one thing not to be persecuted, but it was another to hear that Arthur didn’t just fail to condemn, but seemed to condone their magic. Merlin knew the feeling well. He absently stretched his wings up happily as he replied.

< _Magic. Self. Whole. Brilliant. Joy._ >

“Yes, I can teach you, Morgana,” Merlin said aloud. “We may have to hide it for now, but our magic… it is a part of us, and we are a part of it, as Arthur has come to recognise.”

Arthur looked up at him, gaze deep and a little far away, and Merlin wondered if he was remembering lightening and light and growth.

Gwen looked like she was fighting tears again, and Arthur sent her a reassuring smile and drew a comforting hand down the side of Morgana’s strong neck. She dropped her head and pushed into Arthur’s chest, spiral horn over his shoulder, and Merlin knew that if unicorns could cry, she would be weeping again. Merlin’s resulting smile was heavy with emotion, it flooded him, drowning him in the rightness of this moment and the sweet relief of a young sorceress.

< _Together. Safe,_ > Merlin said.

“We’re here for each other,” Arthur said, regal and sincere. “You’re not alone.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

That night Arthur said stay when he once would have said go.

“So, am I going to be hanged for this?” Merlin said as he slipped under Arthur’s heavy duvet and yielded to the gravitational pull of him “It would be really annoying to be banished or executed for shagging the prince after how long I worried about getting burned at the stake.”

Arthur’s battle roughened hands were gentle on Merlin’s skin as the prince pulled him close, blond hair splayed out on his pillow.

“Nobles and knights have been lying with their servants and squires since the dawn of time,” Arthur said, combing his fingers once through Merlin’s hair before bringing them to rest on Merlin’s jaw. “If my father finds out, he’ll most likely turn a complete blind eye. Better my man servant than some kitchen maid, so the succession isn’t tainted with bastards. There are probably some in the castle who think I’ve been tupping you for ages already.”

Merlin raised his brows over half lidded eyes.

“You’re so romantic, sire,” Merlin said dryly.

Arthur seemed to rouse a bit at that, the dangerous look in his eye that Merlin knew well, even if currently it was strangely accompanied by his thumb brushing over Merlin’s cheekbone.

“ _Oh_ , you want romance, _Merlin?_ You want to be treated like a fine lady, wooed with gifts and flowers?” Arthur drawled.

Merlin paled.

“Oh, _gods_ no,” Merlin said but Arthur’s eyes were narrowed now and he was smirking shamelessly.

“No, I think I _like_ this idea,” Arthur said, rolling on top of Merlin, who let out a yelp. “I’ll send you roses until your hair smells of them. Oh! And silks to wrap your delicate skin.”

“I take it back! I take it back!” Merlin said, giggling but suppressing a very real dread that Arthur would find a way to follow through on his threats.

He stopped the conversation from potentially going any further down dangerous paths by capturing Arthur’s lips with his own and wrapping his arms around the prince’s neck.

 

Merlin woke abruptly. It was the middle of the night and once again he wasn’t sure what woke him. His head was on Arthur’s chest, but this time the prince was definitely still sleeping. When Merlin looked up, his eyes softened involuntarily. Silver moonlight poured from the alcoves and windows, falling on Arthur’s face and making his hair appear white in the semi-darkness. His lips were parted and his chest rose and fell slowly under Merlin’s palm.

Ah, so that was what woke him. The ancient voice reverberated in his mind and Merlin sighed, slowly slipping out of Arthur’s arms. He frowned in his sleep and then woke as Merlin was shrugging on the shirt he’d tossed to the ground earlier that evening in the heat of things. Merlin felt fingers brush down his spine. He looked over to see Arthur’s half lidded eyes, sapphire with sleep.

“Where are you going?” he asked, voice laden with sleep but strengthening.

It was liberating, not having to lie.

“To see the Great Dragon,” Merlin said and then followed an impulse. “Come with me.”

Arthur blinked up at him slowly.

“Why?”

“I think you should see him.”

“Alright,” Arthur said simply, and Merlin quickly began to help him dress.

 _I’m coming you big, impatient lizard,_ Merlin thought loudly, though he doubted Kilgharrah could hear him.

Together Merlin and Arthur slipped through the corridors of the castle, avoiding guards whenever possible. Not that they would have been stopped, but it was best to keep a low profile.

“So… why are we going to see the Great Dragon in the middle of the night?” Arthur asked as they walked down dark stairwells.

“He called out to me,” Merlin explained, tapping his head to show he meant psychically.

“Mm, of course,” Arthur said, still waking up. “Is that normal?”

Merlin chuckled as he took a torch from wall at the top of the large staircase that led to Kilgharrah’s cave.

“It’s been known to happen every once in a while,” Merlin said wryly as he started down the steps with Arthur on his heels. “Have you ever seen the Great Dragon, Arthur?”

Their footsteps echoed loudly and the firelight cast long shadows over the stairs.

“No, my father forbids anyone from descending these stairs. Even chained, the dragon has tooth and flame,” Arthur said and then cocked his head to the side. “Speaking of which, will he try to raze me?”

Merlin hummed.

“I don’t think so. He hates your father, but I think he rather likes you actually, thinks you’re going to bring magic back into the realm and unite Albion and all,” Merlin said. “But then he hasn’t met you yet. That’s always disillusioning.”

Arthur flicked him hard in the ear, making it smart and sting. Merlin pressed a hand over his wounded ear and sent a filthy look over his shoulder. Arthur just shot one back.

“Prat.”

They quieted when they reached the bottom of the stairs. Merlin didn’t hesitate to step through the craggy opening that led to the dragon’s cavern and prison.

“Merlin!” the dragon said as soon as he stepped out onto the ledge, placing the torch in an empty sconce.

He was already waiting on the huge stone mound, wings fidgeting and looking more lively than usual. Then Arthur walked in, shoulders squared and head held high and proud. When Kilgharrah saw him, he reared his heavy head and flapped his massive wings, sending a brief gust of wind that tugged at Merlin’s fringe. Then the dragon let loose a mighty laugh.

“Well! I already begin to understand the shifting prophecies!” Kilgharrah said with mirth. He lowered his head as to be a little closer to eye level, gaze locked on Arthur. “I can’t say I ever expected to see you here, young Pendragon. I doubt the king would want us introduced.”

Arthur slid one foot back into a defensive stance and his hand went to the hilt of his sword instinctively as the gigantic creature moved closer. Kilgharrah just chuckled.

“My farther does not know I come here,” Arthur said.

“I should think not,” Kilgharrah said, head continuing to bob in amusement.

Merlin thought it was time to spare Arthur from Kilgharrah’s teasing. With Arthur off balance like this, it very much looked like a cat cornering a mouse.

“Arthur knows,” Merlin said to Kilgharrah, who only spared the Changeling a glance.

“I thought so… and what is it that you know, young Pendragon?”

Arthur had finally taken control of himself. He was not a man who would stand diminutively before anyone, not even an ancient dragon. He spoke deliberately and stared into Kilgharrah’s sharp golden eyes.

“Merlin has magic,” Arthur said. “And sometimes he is a dragon, though one much smaller than you.”

That made both Kilgharrah laugh and Merlin smile.

“Indeed! He is but a dragonling yet, however he does not simply _use_ magic, but he _is_ magic. Do you understand?” Kilgharrah asked, still watching Arthur closely.

“Yes…” Arthur said, looking over at Merlin, things in his eyes that the warlock could neither name nor decipher. “I do.”

“And he’s told you of your destiny, young Pendgragon?”

Once again Arthur nodded and faced the dragon with a straight spine.

“Yes. One day I will unite Albion. Merlin and I are to bring forth magic back into the land,” Arthur said, though he still looked unsure of that. “At least that’s what you say.”

Kilgharrah smiled.

“I do, as do the prophecies,” he said. “You and Merlin are two sides of the same coin, and only together may you bring about a new era.”

Despite his strong posture, Merlin could tell Kilgharrah’s words were shaking Arthur’s very bones. He decided it was time to move on.

“Why did you call me here?” Merlin asked. “What did you mean about shifting prophecies?”

Finally Kilgharrah turned away from Arthur and to Merlin.

“I called because something has been done to change the future,” Kilgharrah began. “The stain of the witch has faded, and where she stood, something new and much less toxic resides.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked, hoping that Kilgharrah might be clear for once.

“Somehow you have averted a great doom. The witch would have brought utter downfall upon you, but now her resurrected light may yet burn away some of the shadows in your future. The Druid boy will hang in her balance.”

Merlin stiffened at the mention of Mordred, the flash of fear he always inspired. He flashed a glance at Arthur and was glad that he didn’t know about that. Still, the rest of Kilgharrah’s words were about as clear as coal.

“So… you’re saying good news?” Merlin asked simply.

Kilgharrah smiled.

“Indeed,” he said, but then raised his head up imperiously. “But that does not mean the way before you is clear. Obstacles and figures shrouded in darkness still await you, dangers grow like weeds along your way. A light cannot shine without casting a shadow.”

Arthur scowled and took a step forward.

“What does that mean?” Arthur asked.

Merlin placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“He always speaks as such, Arthur. It’s best not to let it trouble you too much,” Merlin said.

Kilgharrah narrowed his eyes at Merlin.

“I do not see the future, Merlin, as you know. All I see is prophecy through an infinite haze of probability,” he said, shifting on his perch and making his chains rattle.

That caught Arthur’s eye and something in his visage changed, a grey cloud descending upon him. Even with his thick hide, there was evidence of a long imprisonment scarred into the dragon’s flesh.

“My father keeps you captured here,” Arthur said suddenly.

Kilgharrah noticed his attention to the chains and his eyes narrowed calculatingly.

“Yes. I am kept alive as an example, or perhaps as Uther Pendragon’s trophy,” Kilgharrah said, clearly not censoring himself for Arthur’s sake. “But one day I will be free from this infernal cave and taste the sky again.”

It was said proudly, almost like a challenge, and Arthur gazed at him with a completely unreadable expression, though Merlin thought there might have been a glow of sadness there when Kilgharrah spoke. The warlock had no idea what was happening.

“And what would you do with your freedom when you obtained it?” Arthur asked and Merlin was starting to feel slightly nervous. “Would you turn on Camelot or her people?”

Kilgharrah narrowed his eyes to slits again, and he seemed like he might be confused as well.

“That will depend entirely upon the manner of my release,” the dragon said.

Arthur didn’t react but Merlin could almost smell the blossoming righteousness in him, inspiring pride and anxiety in equal measure.

“What if I were to release you this very night, on the condition that you promise that you won’t harm my people. What would you do then, Kilgharrah the Great Dragon?”

Kilgharrah’s eyes widened and his wings pulled close to his body as his head rose in shock.

“Arthur, I’m not sure—” Merlin began, a long way from fully trusting Kilgharrah.

The Great Dragon’s roar of laughter cut him off though.

“Well! That would be something, indeed!” Kilgharrah said and then lowered his head down very close to Arthur, so they were eye to eye. “I vow to you, Arthur Pendragon, future King of Camelot, that should I be released by your hand under this moon, I will inflict no harm upon your lands or people. I will bury the rage in my heart and fly far from here.”

Merlin was still nervous but something in him softened. He looked to Arthur, who looked so regal and sure, and his gaze turned tender. For once in his life Merlin decided to bow to his sovereign.

Arthur was doing the right thing.

“How do I free you?” Arthur said like a command.

Kilgharrah’s words were level but he shifted on his perch, wings ruffling and claws digging into the rock as he shifted, sending pebbles bouncing into the darkness below.

“The sword of a Pendragon and the Warlock’s magic should be sufficient break my chains,” he said.

Arthur turned to Merlin and drew his sword. He held it out, offered the blade with an upturned hand.

“Are you sure about this, Arthur?” Merlin had to ask, just once.

The prince didn’t falter.

“He is wrongly imprisoned,” Arthur said. “And a dragon belongs in the sky.”

Merlin’s throat worked, and he had to look away, but a smile curled his lips as he stepped close to Arthur. One hand curled over Arthur’s at the hilt. His scarred knuckles were warm against Merlin’s skin. Merlin turned his other hand downwards, palm hovering just about the steel. The words came to him easily.

“ _Stíele forþgestrange. Ábríet. Onbind._ ”

There was a gold glow and Merlin drew his hand over the blade, sliding through the air just above the metal, all the way to the tip. When the glow faded, Merlin stepped away. Merlin took the torch from the sconce and Arthur climbed down to the mound of rock where Kilgharrah’s sat. Merlin followed close behind with the torch and Kilgharrah watched as Arthur stopped right next to his hind leg, where the massive black chain was anchored to an iron shackle.

Merlin held his breath as Arthur raised his sword above his head. Arthur swung, bringing the blade down to collide with the lock on the shackle. There was a crack like lightning and a flash almost as bright. When Merlin’s eyes cleared, the metal was shattered and Arthur was breathing a little heavily—and the great dragon was free.

Merlin was almost surprised when Kilgharrah didn’t fly away without a word. Instead he turned around to face them.

“It seems that even I underestimated you, Arthur Pendragon, and you as well, Merlin,” he rumbled, looking between the two young men. “And so before I leave you, I offer you some last words of warning.”

He lowered his head to look Arthur in the eyes once more.

“You must be careful; if a Pendragon’s heart is poisoned with hate, so too will Albion be tainted,” he said. “And if the Kingdom is won by wrath, with it the land will burn.”

Merlin though of Uther and a great sadness washed over him. He wondered where Arthur’s thoughts had taken him. He looked grim.

Then the Great Dragon spread his wings, but then looked down at Merlin.

**_These words, as always, are for you as well, Merlin. Remember them._ **

Then he kicked up a windstorm with his massive wings and disappeared into the dark above. They both stared after him. It was Merlin who broke the silence, knowing Kilgharrah’s last words must be weighing on him like boulders.

“We need to go. The warning bells will be ringing any minute,” Merlin said softly.

Arthur turned to him and nodded solemnly.

 

♛   ♛   ♛

 

Kilgharrah’s flight sent the city into a panic, and luckily everyone was less interested in _how_ the dragon got free than the fact that they thought the city was in mortal peril. Uther had guards posted on every wall, set bells to ring, but there was no sign of a dragon returning from where he’d disappeared northwards into the night, and none of the knights seemed to notice that the passion of their prince seemed to be forced as he ordered them about to reinforce the city.

The sun was rising now, and Arthur Pendragon stood by his window, watching the dawn begin to wash over his city. The future sat heavy on his mind until someone stepped up behind him and took the empty goblet from his hands. He set it on the sill and smiled.

“Don’t let what he said get to you,” Merlin said.

“How can I not?” Arthur said, feeling the urge to reach out and touch with gentle fingers but still too awkward to do it so casually.

Merlin paused, seemingly at a loss at even the simplest of questions to be expected.

“Um… well not everything he said tonight was a bad omen?” Merlin tried, and Arthur rolled his eyes, completely unimpressed. His face turned serious then. “Arthur, we have faced many dangers before, and we can do it again, and we will, for the love of Camelot.”

Merlin was more confident now, the morning sun rising over the city walls and touching his skin, colouring it red.

“And you don’t bear these burdens alone. There is Morgana, and Gwen, and me, Arthur,” he said, and then a smile half climbed onto his lips, though his eyes remained sombre. “I know you don’t think that counts for much but—”

“No,” Arthur said, finally looking at Merlin and only Merlin, eyes grey-blue like the sky over the ocean. “It counts, for more than you know. For more than your magic. You are loyal, and courageous, and even with the lies, I have trusted you more than I have ever trusted any man—and I will continue to do so.”

And Merlin looked at him and laughed a bit breathlessly, little more than a smile and a stuttered exhale, but Arthur needed him to understand properly. And it would be a long time yet before Arthur could utter the words that would do that on their own.

So for now he took Merlin’s cheeks in his hands, the warlock’s skin chilled by the morning air flowing through the open window, and kissed him deeply. Merlin’s lips curled under his as he felt Merlin’s hands on his chest and the chaos in him quieted. They kissed slowly, near sweetly, with just an edge of their own kind of desperation. When they parted, Merlin pressed his forehead to Arthur’s.

“I know,” Merlin said. “I know, Arthur.”

They spent the entire morning sat close together in front of the window, eating fruit and salted pork, knees bumping together as the sky turned from indigo to lavender to peach. A warlock and his prince sat side by side and watched the sun rise over Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading and I'd really love to see people's comments. I have two sequels outlined for this that basically rewrite Merlin canon in this verse, and might pursue if there's interest once I get time!
> 
> Thank you to Kathe for her beta and britpick!


End file.
